LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RlVtKSlDE 


BY 

MAY  SINCLAIR 


The  Belfry 

Mary  OLivier 

The    Romantic 

The  Three  Sisters 

The  Tree  of  Heaven 

A    Defence    of    Idealism 

The    Return    of    the    Prodigal 

A  Journal  op  Impressions  in  Belgium 


M^R.  WADDINGTON 
OF  WYCK 


BY 

MAY  SINCLAIR 


laetD  gotk 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1921 


All  rights  reserved 


,i:  13  MS- 

PBINTED  IN   THE  UNITED   STATES   OF  AMEBICA 


Copyright,  1921, 
Br  MAY  SINCLAIR. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  Septewaber,  1921. 


PRINTING    COMPANH 
NEW  YORK    CITY 


MR.    WADDINGTON    OF   WYCK 


Barbara  wished  she  would  come  "back.  For  the  last 
hour  Fanny  Waddington  had  kept  on  passing  in  and 
out  of  the  room  through  the  open  door  into  the 
garden,  bringing  in  tulips,  white,  pink,  and  red 
tulips,  for  the  flowered  Lowestoft  bowls,  hovering  over 
them,  caressing  them  with  her  delicate  butterfly  fingers, 
humming  some  sort  of  song  to  herself. 

The  song  mixes  itself  up  with  the  Stores  list  Barbara 
was  making:  "Two  dozen  glass  towels.  Twelve 
pounds  of  Spratt's  puppy  biscuits.  One  dozen  gent's 
all-silk  pyjamas,  extra  large  size"  .  .  .  "A-hoom — 
hoom,  a-hoom — hoom"  (that  Impromptu  of  Schubert's), 
and  with  the  notes  Barbara  was  writing:  "Mrs.  Wad- 
dington has  pleasure  in  enclosing.  ..."  Fanny 
Waddington   would    always   have   pleasure    in    enclos- 


2  ME.  WADDrnGTON"  OF  WYCK 

ing  sometliing.  .  .  .  "A  lioom — lioom,  hoom,  hee."  A 
sound  so  light  that  it  hardly  stinted  the  quiet  of  the 
room.  If  a  butterfly  could  hum  it  would  hum  like 
Fanny  Waddington. 

Barbara  Madden  had  not  been  two  days  at  Lower 
Wyck  Manor,  and  already  she  was  at  home  there;  she 
knew  by  heart  Fanny's  drawing-room  with  the  low 
stretch  of  the  Tudor  windows  at  each  end,  their  lat- 
tices panelled  by  the  heavy  mullions,  the  back  one  look- 
ing out  on  to  the  green  garden  bordered  with  wall- 
flowers and  tulips ;  the  front  one  on  to  the  round  grass- 
plot  and  the  sundial,  the  drive  and  the  shrubbery  be- 
yond, down  the  broad  walk  that  cut  through  it  into 
the  clear  reaches  of  the  park.  She  liked  the  interior, 
the  Persian  carpet  faded  to  patches  of  grey  and  fawn 
and  old  rose,  the  port-wine  mahogany  furniture,  the 
tables  thrusting  out  the  brass  claws  of  their  legs,  the 
latticed  cabinets  and  bookcases,  the  chintz  curtains  and 
chair-covers,  all  red  dahlias  and  powder-blue  parrots 
on  a  cream-coloured  ground.  But  when  Fanny  wasn't 
there  you  could  feel  the  room  ache  with  the  emptiness 
she  left. 

Barbara  ached.  She  caught  herself  listening  for 
Fanny  Waddington's  feet  on  the  flagged  path  and  the 
Bound  of  her  humming.  As  she  waited  she  looked  up 
at  the  picture  over  the  bureau  in  the  recess  of  the  fire- 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  3 

place,  the  portrait  in  oils  of  Horatio  Bysshe  Wadding- 
ton,  Fanny's  husband. 

He  was  seated,  heavily  seated  with  his  spread  width 
and  folded  height,  in  one  of  the  brown-leather  chairs 
of  his  library,  dressed  in  a  tweed  coat,  putty-coloured 
riding  breeches,  a  buff  waistcoat,  and  a  grey-blue  tie. 
The  handsome,  florid  face  was  lifted  in  a  noble  pose 
above  the  stiff  white  collar;  you  could  see  the  full, 
slightly  drooping  lower  lip  under  the  shaggy  black 
moustache.  There  was  solemnity  in  the  thick,  rounded 
salient  of  the  Roman  nose,  in  the  slightly  bulging  eyes, 
and  in  the  almost  imperceptible  line  that  sagged  from 
each  nostril  down  the  long  curve  of  the  cheeks.  This 
figure,  one  great  thigh  crossed  on  the  other,  was  extraor- 
dinarily solid  against  the  smoky  background  where  the 
clipped  black  hair  made  a  watery  light.  His  eyes  were 
not  looking  at  anything  in  particular.  Horatio  Bysshe 
Waddington   seemed  to  be  absorbed  in   some   solemn 

thought. 

His  wife's  portrait  hung  over  the  card-table  in  the 

other  recess. 

Barbara  hoped  he  would  be  nice ;  she  hoped  he  would 
be  interesting,  since  she  had  to  be  his  secretary.  But, 
of  course,  he  would  be.  Anybody  so  enchanting  as 
Fanny  could  never  have  married  him  if  he  wasn't. 
She  wondered  how  she,  Barbara  Madden,  would  play 


4  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

her  double  part  of  secretary  to  him  and  companion  to 
her.  She  had  been  secretary  to  other  men  before;  all 
through  the  war  she  had  been  secretary  to  somebody, 
but  she  had  never  had  to  be  companion  to  their  wives. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  good  thing  that  Fanny,  as  she  kept 
on  reminding  her,  had  ^'secured"  her  first.  She  was 
glad  he  wasn't  there  when  she  arrived  and  wouldn't 
be  till  the  day  after  to-morrow  (he  had  wired  that  morn- 
ing to  tell  them)  ;  so  that  for  two  days  more  she  would 
have  Fanny  to  herself. 


^'Well,  what  do  you  think  of  him?" 

Fanny  had  come  back  into  the  room;  she  was  hover- 
ing behind  her. 

"I — I  think  he's  jolly  good-looking." 

"Well,  you  see,  that  was  painted  seventeen  years  ago. 
He  was  young  then." 

"Has  he  changed  much  since?" 

"Dear  me,  no,"  said  Fanny.  "He  hasn't  changed  at 
all." 

"No  more  have  you,  I  think." 

"Oh,  me — in  seventeen  years!" 

She  was  still  absurdly  like  her  portrait,  after  seven- 
teen years,  with  her  light,  slender  body,  poised  for  one 
of  her  flights,  her  quick  movements  of  butterfly  and 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  5 

bird,  with  her  small  white  face,  the  terrier  nose  lifted 
on  the  moth-wing  shadows  of  her  nostrils,  her  dark- 
blue  eyes,  that  gazed  at  you,  close  under  the  low  black 
eyebrows,  her  brown  hair  that  sprang  in  two  sickles 
from  the  peak  on  her  forehead,  raking  up  to  the  back- 
ward curve  of  the  chignon,  a  profile  of  cyclamen.  And 
her  moutli,  the  fine  lips  drawn  finer  by  her  enchanting 
smile.  All  these  features  set  in  such  strange,  sensitive 
unity  that  her  mouth  looked  at  you  and  her  eyes  said 
things.  No  matter  how  long  she  lived  she  would  al- 
ways be  young. 

"Oh,  my  dear  child,"  she  said,  "you  are  so  like  your 
mother." 

"Am  I  ?     Were  you  afraid  I  wouldn't  be  ?" 

"A  little,  just  a  little  afraid.  I  thought  you'd  be 
modern." 

"So  I  am.     So  was  mother." 

"Not  when  I  knew  her." 

"Afterwards  then."  A  sudden  thought  came  to  Bar- 
bara. "Mrs.  Waddington,  if  mother  was  your  dearest 
friend  why  haven't  you  known  me  all  this  time  ?" 

"Your  mother  and  I  lost  sight  of  each  other  before 
jou  were  bom." 

"Mother  didn't  want  to." 

"Nor  I." 

"Mother  would  have  hated  you  to  think  she  did." 


6  MK.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"I  never  thouglit  it.  She  must  have  known  I 
didn't." 

"Then  why " 

"Did  we  lose  sight  ?" 

"Yes,  why?  People  don't,  if  they  can  help  it,  if 
they  care  enough.     And  mother  cared." 

"You're  a  persistent  little  thing,  aren't  you?  Are 
you  trying  to  make  out  that  I  didn't  care?" 

"I'm  trying  to  make  you  see  that  mother  did." 

"Well,  my  dear,  we  both  cared,  but  we  couldnt  help 
it.     We  married,  and  our  husbands  didn't  hit  it  off." 

"Didn't  they?  And  daddy  was  so  nice.  Didn't 
you  know  how  nice  he  was  ?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  knew.  My  husband  was  nice,  too,  Bar- 
bara; though  you  mightn't  think  it." 

"Oh,  but  I  do.  I'm  sure  he  is.  Only  I  haven't 
seen  him  yet." 

"So  nice.  But,"  said  Fanny,  pursuing  her  own 
thought,  "he  never  made  a  joke  in  his  life,  and  your 
father  never  made  anything  elsa" 

"Daddy  didn't  'make'  jokes.     They  came  to  him." 

"I've  seen  them  come.  He  never  sent  any  of  them 
away,  no  matter  how  naughty  they  were,  or  how  expen- 
sive. I  used  to  adore  his  jokes.  .  .  .  But  Horatio 
didn't.  He  didn't  like  my  adoring  them,  so  you 
see " 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  7 

"I  see.  I  wonder,"  said  Barbara,  looking  up  at  the 
portrait  again,  "what  he's  thinking  about?" 

"I  used  to  wonder." 

"But  you  know  now  ?" 

"Yes,  I  know  now,"  Fanny  said. 

"What'll  happen,"  said  Barbara,  "if  /  make  jokes  ?" 

"JSTothing.     He'll  never  see  them." 

"If  he  saw  daddy's " 

"Oh,  but  he  didn't.     That  was  me." 

Barbara  was  thoughtful.  "I  daresay,"  she  said, 
"you  won't  keep  me  long.  Supposing  I  can't  do  the 
work?" 

"The  ivorkf  Fanny's  eyes  were  interrogative  and 
a  little  surprised,  as  though  they  were  saying,  "Who 
said  work  ?     What  work  ?" 

"Well,  Mr.  Waddington's  work.  I've  got  to  help 
him  with  his  book,  haven't  I  ?" 

"Oh,  his  book,  yes.  \Vlien  he's  writing  it.  He  isn't 
always.  Does  he  look,"  said  Fanny,  "like  a  man  who'd 
always  be  writing  a  book  ?" 

"N'o.  I  can't  say  he  does,  exactly."  (What  did 
he  look  like?) 

"Well,  then,  it'll  be  all  right.     I  mean  we  shall  be." 

"I  only  wondered  whether  I  could  really  do  what  he 
wants." 

"If  Ralph  could,"  said  Fanny,  "you  can." 


8  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Who's  Ralph?" 

"Ralph  is  my  cousin.     He  was  Horatio's  secretary." 

"Was."  Barbara  considered  it.  "Did  he  make 
jokes,  then  ?" 

"Lots.  But  that  wasn't  why  he  left.  ...  It  was 
an  awful  pity,  too;  because  he's  most  dreadfully  hard 
up." 

"If  he's  hard  up,"  Barbara  said,  "I  couldn't  bear 
to  think  I've  done  him  out  of  a  job." 

"You  haven't.     He  had  to  go." 

Fanny  turned  again  to  her  flowers  and  Barbara  to 
her  Stores  list. 

"Are  you  sure,"  Fanny  said  suddenly,  "you  put 
'striped'  ?" 

"Striped  ?     The  pyjamas  ?     No,  I  haven't." 

"Then,  for  goodness'  sake,  put  it.  Supposing  they 
sent  those  awful  Futurist  things;  why,  he'd  frighten 
me  into  fits.  Can't  you  see  Horatio  stalking  in  out 
of  his  dressing-room,  all  magenta  blobs  and  forked 
lightning?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him  at  all  yet,"  said  Barbara. 

"Well,  you  wait.  .  .  .  Does  my  humming  annoy 
you?" 

"Wot  a  bit.     I  like  it.     It's  such  a  happy  sound." 

"I  always  do  it,"  said  Fanny,  "when  I'm  happy.'^ 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 


You  could  hear  feet,  feet  in  heavy  soled  boots,  clank- 
ing on  the  drive  that  ringed  the  grass-plot  and  the 
sundial ;  the  eager  feet  of  a  young  man.  Fanny  turned 
her  head,  listening. 

^'There  is  Ralph,"  she  said.     "Come  in,  Ralph!" 

The  young  man  stood  in  the  low,  narrow  doorway, 
filling  it  with  his  slender  height  and  breadth.  He 
looked  past  Fanny,  warily,  into  the  far  corner  of  the 
room,  and  when  his  eyes  found  Barbara  at  her  bureau 
they  smiled. 

"Oh,  come  in,"  Fanny  said.  "He  isn't  here.  He 
won't  bo  till  Friday.  This  is  Ralph  Bevan,  Barbara ; 
and  this  is  Barbara  Madden,  Ralph." 

He  bowed,  still  smiling,  as  if  he  saw  something  irre- 
pressibly  amusing  in  her  presence  there. 

"Yes,"  said  Fanny  to  the  smile.     "Your  successor." 

"I  congratulate  you.  Miss  Madden." 

"Don't  be  an  ironical  beast.  She's  just  said  she 
couldn't  bear  to  think  she'd  done  you  out  of  your  job." 

"Well,  I  couldn't,"  said  Barbara. 

"That's  very  nice  of  you.  But  you  didn't  do  me  out 
of  anything.     It  was  the  act  of  God." 

"It  was  Horatio's  act.  Not  that  Miss  Madden  meant 
any  reflection  on  his  justice  and  his  mercy." 


10  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"I  don't  know  about  bis  justice,"  Ralph  said.  ^'But 
be  was  absolutely  merciful  wben  be  fired  me  out." 

"Is  it  so  awfully  bard  tben?"  said  Barbara. 

"You  may  not  find  it  so." 

"Ob,  but  I'm  going  to  be  Mrs.  Waddington's  com- 
panion, too." 

"You'll  be  all  rigbt  tben.  Tbey  wouldn't  let  me  be 
tbat." 

"He  means  you'll  be  safe,  dear.  You  won't  be  fired 
out  whatever  happens." 

"Whatever  sort  of  secretary  I  am?" 

"Yes.  She  can  be  any  sort  she  likes,  in  reason,  can't 
she?" 

"She  can't  be  a  worse  one  than  I  was,  anyhow." 

Barbara  was  aware  that  he  bad  looked  at  her,  a  long 
look,  half  thoughtful,  half  amused,  as  if  he  were  going 
to  say  something  different,  something  that  would  give 
her  a  curious  light  on  herself,  and  had  thought  better 
of  it. 

Fanny  Waddington  was  protesting.  "My  dear  boy, 
it  wasn't  for  incompetence.  She's  simply  dying  to 
know  what  you  did  do." 

"You  can  tell  her." 

"He  wanted  to  write  Horatio's  book  for  him,  and 
Horatio  wouldn't  let  him.     That  was  all." 

"Oh,  well,  I  shan't  want  to  write  it,"  Barbara  said. 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  11 

"We  thought  perhaps  you  wouldn't,"  said  Fanny. 

But  Barbara  had  turned  to  her  bureau,  affecting  a  dis- 
creet absorption  in  her  list.  And  presently  Kalph 
Bevan  went  out  into  the  garden  with  Fanny  to  gather 
more  tulips. 


II 


She  had  been  dying  to  know  what  he  had  done,  but 
now,  after  Ralph  had  stayed  to  lunch  and  tea  and  din- 
ner that  first  day,  after  he  had  spent  all  yesterday  at  the 
Manor,  and  after  he  had  turned  up  to-day  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  Barbara  thought  she  had  made  out  the 
history,  though  they  had  been  very  discreet  and  Fanny 
had  insisted  on  reading  ''Tono-Bungay"  out  loud  half 
the  time. 

Ealph,  of  course,  was  in  love  with  his  cousin  Fanny. 
To  be  sure,  she  must  be  at  least  ten  years  older  than 
he  was,  but  that  wouldn't  matter.  And,  of  course,  it 
was  rather  naughty  of  him,  but  then  again,  very  likely 
he  couldn't  help  it.  It  had  just  come  on  him  when  he 
wasn't  thinking ;  and  who  could  help  being  in  love  with 
Fanny  ?  You  could  be  in  love  with  people  quite  inno- 
cently and  hopelessly.  There  was  no  sin  where  there 
wasn't  any  hope. 

And  perhaps  Fanny  was  innocently,  ever  so  inno- 
cently, in  love  with  him;  or,  if  she  wasn't,  Horatio 

thought  she  was,  which  came  to  much  the  same  thing;  ^« 

12 


MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  13 

so  that  anyhow  poor  Ralph  had  to  go.  The  explana- 
tion they  had  given,  Barbara  thought,  was  rather  thin, 
not  quite  worthy  of  their  admirable  intelligence. 

It  was  Friday,  Barbara's  fifth  day.  She  was  walk- 
ing home  with  Ralph  Bevan  through  the  Waddingtons' 
park,  down  the  main  drive  that  led  from  Wyck-on-the- 
Hill  to  Lower  Wyck  Manor, 

It  wouldn't  be  surprising,  she  thought,  if  Fanny  were 
in  love  with  her  cousin ;  he  was,  as  she  put  it  to  herself, 
so  distinctly  ''fallable-in-love-with."  She  could  see 
Fanny  surrendering,  first  to  his  sudden  laughter,  his 
quick,  delighted  mind,  his  innocent,  engaging  frank- 
ness. He  would,  she  thought,  be  endlessly  amusing, 
endlessly  interesting,  because  he  was  so  interested,  so 
amused.  There  was  something  that  pleased  her  in  the 
way  he  walked,  hatless,  his  head  thrown  back,  his 
shoulders  squared,  his  hands  thrust  into  his  coat  pock- 
ets, safe  from  gesture;  something  in  the  way  he  spun 
round  in  his  path  to  face  her  with  his  laughter.  He 
had  Fanny's  terrier  nose  with  the  ghost  of  a  kink  in 
it;  his  dark  hair  grew  back  in  a  sickle  on  each  temple; 
it  wouldn't  lie  level  and  smooth  like  other  people's,  but 
sprang  up,  curled  from  the  clipping.  His  eyes  were 
his  own,  dappled  eyes,  green  and  grey,  black  and  bro^\^l, 
sparkling;  so  was  his  mouth,  which  was  neither  too 
thin  nor  too  thick — determination  in  the  thrusting  curve 


14  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

of  that  lower  lip — and  his  chin,  which  was  just  a 
shade  too  big  for  it,  a  shade  too  big  for  his  face.  His 
cheeks  were  sunburnt,  and  a  little  shower  of  ochreish 
freckles  spread  from  the  sunburn  and  peppered  the 
slopes  of  his  nose.     She  wanted  to  sketch  him. 

"Doesn't  Mrs.  Waddington  ever  go  for  walks?"  she 
said. 

"Fanny  ?     No.     She's  too  lazy." 

"Lazy  ?" 

"Too  active,  if  you  like,  in  other  ways.  .  .  .  How 
long  have  you  known  her  ?" 

"Just  five  days." 

"Five  daysr 

"Yes;  but,  you  see,  years  ago  she  was  my  mother's 
dearest  friend.  That's  how  I  came  to  be  their  sec- 
retary. When  she  saw  my  name  in  the  advertisement 
she  thought  it  must  be  me.  And  it  was  me.  They 
hadn't  seen  each  other  for  years  and  years.  My  father 
and  Mr.  Waddington  didn't  hit  it  off  together, 
I  believe." 

"You  haven't  seen  him  yet?" 

"No.     There  seems  to  be  some  mystery  about  him." 

"Mystery?" 

"Yes.     What  is  it  ?     Or  mayn't  you  tell  ?" 

"I  won't  tell.     It  wouldn't  be  kind." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  15 

"Then  don't — don't.  I  didn't  know  it  was  that  sort 
of  thing." 

Ralph  laughed.  "It  isn't.  I  meant  it  wouldn't  be 
kind  to  you.     I  don't  want  to  spoil  him  for  you," 

"Then  there  is — tell  me  one  thing:  Shall  I  get  on 
with  him  all  right?" 

"Don't  ask  me  that." 

"I  mean,  will  he  be  awfully  difficult  to  work  with  ?" 

"Because  he  sacked  me?  No.  Only  you  mustn't 
let  on  that  you  know  better  than  he  does.  And  if  you 
want  to  keep  your  job,  you  mustn't  contradict  him." 

"Now  you've  made  me  want  to  contradict  him. 
Whatever  he  says  I  shall  have  to  say  the  other  thing 
whether  I  agree  with  him  or  not." 

"Don't  you  think  you  could  temporize  a  bit?  For 
her  sake." 

"Did  you  temporize  ?" 

"Rather.     I  was  as  meek  and  servile  as  I  knew  how." 

"As  you  knew  how.  Do  you  think  I  shall  know 
better?" 

"Yes,  you're  a  woman.  You  can  get  on  the  right  side 
of  him.  Will  you  try  to,  because  of  Fanny?  I'm 
most  awfully  glad  she's  got  you,  and  I  want  you  to  stay. 
Between  you  and  me  she  has  a  very  thin  time  with 
Waddington." 


16  MR.  WADDING  TON  OF  WYCK 

"There  it  is.  I  know — I  know — I  know  I'm  going 
to  hate  him." 

"Oh,  no,  you're  not.    You  can't  hate  Waddington." 

"You  don't?" 

"Oh,  Lord,  no.  I  wouldn't  mind  him  a  bit,  poor  old 
thing,  if  he  wasn't  Fanny's  husband." 

He  had  almost  as  good  as  owned  it,  almost  put  her 
in  possession  of  their  secret.  She  conceived  it — his  se- 
cret, Fanny's  secret — as  all  innocence  on  her  part,  all 
chivalry  on  his ;  tender  and  hopeless  and  pure. 

2 

They  had  come  to  the  white  gate  that  led  between  the 
shrubberies  and  the  grass-plot  with  the  yellow-grey  stone 
house  behind  it. 

It  was  nice,  she  thought,  of  Fanny  to  make  Mr. 
Bevan  take  her  for  these  long  walks  when  she  couldn't 
go  with  them ;  but  Barbara  felt  all  the  time  that  she 
ought  to  apologize  to  the  young  man  for  not  being 
Fanny,  especially  when  Mr,  Waddington  was  coming 
back  to-day  by  the  three-forty  train  and  this  afternoon 
would  be  their  last  for  goodness  knew  how  long.  And 
as  they  talked — about  Ttalph's  life  before  the  war  and 
the  jobs  he  had  lost  because  of  it  (he  had  been  a  jour- 
nalist), and  about  Barbara's  job  at  the  War  Office, 
and  air  raids  and  the  games  they  both  went  in  for,  and 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  17 

their  favourite  authors  and  the  room  he  had  in  the 
White  Hart  Inn  at  Wjck— as  they  talked,  fluently, 
with  the  ease  of  old  acquaintances,  almost  of  old  friends, 
Barbara  admired  the  beauty  of  Mr.  Bevan's  manners; 
you  would  have  supposed  that  instead  of  suffering,  as 
he  must  be  suffering,  agonies  of  impatience  and  irrita- 
tion, he  had  never  enjoyed  anything  in  his  life  so  much 
as  this  adventure  that  was  just  coming  to  an  end. 

He  had  opened  the  gate  for  her  and  now  stood  with 
his  back  to  it,  holding  out  his  hand,  saying  ''Good-bye." 

"Aren't  you  coming  in  ?"  she  said.  "Mrs.  Wadding- 
ton  expects  you  for  tea." 

"No,"  he  said,  "she  doesn't.  She  knows  I  can't  come 
if  he's  there." 

He  paused.  "By  the  way,  that  book  of  his,  it's  in 
an  appalling  muddle.  I  hadn't  time  to  do  much  to  it 
before  I  left.  If  you  can't  get  it  straight  you  must 
come  to  me  and  I'll  help  you." 

"That's  very  good  of  you." 

"Rather  not.     It  was  my  job,  you  know." 

He  was  backing  through  the  gate,  saluting  as  he 
went.  And  now  he  had  turaed  and  was  running  with 
raking,  athletic  paces  up  the  gTass  border  of  the  park. 


Ill 


''Tea  is  in  the  library,  miss." 

This  announcement,  together  with  Partridge's  ex- 
traordinary increase  of  importance,  would  have  told 
her  that  the  master  had  returned,  even  if  she  had  not 
seen,  through  the  half-open  door  of  the  cloak-room,  Mr. 
Waddington's  overcoat  hanging  by  its  shoulders  and 
suiTnounted  by  his  grey  slouch  hat. 

With  a  rapid,  furtive  movement  the  butler  closed  the 
door  on  these  sanctities;  and  she  noted  the  subdued 
quiet  of  his  footsteps  as  he  led  the  way  down  the  dark 
oak-panelled  corridor,  through  the  smoke-room,  and  into 
the  library  beyond.  She  also  caught  a  surprising  sight 
of  her  own  face  in  the  glass  over  the  smoke-room  chim- 
neypiece,  her  dark  eyes  shining,  the  cool,  wind-beaten 
flush  on  her  young  cheeks,  the  curled  mouth  flowering, 
geranium  red  on  rose  white. 

This  Barbara  of  the  looking-glass  smiled  at  her  in 

passing  with  such  gay,  irresponsible  amusement  that  it 

fairly  took  her  breath  away.     Its  origin  became  clear 

to  her  as  Ralph  Sevan's  words  shot  into  her  mind :     "I 

18 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  19 

don't  want  to  spoil  him  for  you."  She  foresaw  a  pos- 
sible intimacy  in  which  Horatio  Bysshe  Waddington 
would  become  the  unique  though  unofficial  tie  between 
them.  She  was  aware  that  it  pleased  her  to  share  a 
secret  jest  with  Ralph  Bevan. 

She  found  Fanny  established  behind  her  tea-table  in 
the  low  room,  dim  with  its  oak  panelling  above  the  long 
lines  of  the  bookcases,  where  Fanny's  fluttering  smile 
made  movement  and  a  sort  of  light. 

Her  husband  sat  facing  her  in  his  brown  leather  chair 
and  in  the  pose,  the  wonderful  pose  of  his  portrait ;  only 
the  sobriety  of  his  navy-blue  serge  had  fined  it  down, 
giving  him  a  factitious  slendemess.  He  hadn't  seen 
her  come  in.  He  sat  there  in  innocence  and  unawar&- 
ness;  and  afterwards  it  gave  her  a  little  pang  of  re- 
morse remembering  how  innocent  he  had  then  seemed  to 
her  and  unaware. 

"This  is  my  husband,  Barbara.  Horatio,  you  haven't 
met  Miss  Madden." 

His  eyes  bulged  with  the  startled  innocence  of  a 
creature  taken  unaware.  He  had  just  lifted  his  face, 
with  its  dripping  moustache,  from  his  teacup,  and 
though  he  carried  off  this  awkwardness  with  an  un- 
abashed sweep  of  his  pocket-handkerchief,  you  could 
see  that  he  was  sensitive;  he  hated  you  to  catch  him 
in  any  gesture  that  was  less  than  noble.     All  his  ges- 


20  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

tures  were  noble  and  his  attitudes.  He  was  noble  as 
he  got  up,  slowly,  unfolding'  his  gi'eat  height,  tightening 
by  a  movement  of  his  shoulders  his  great  breadth.  He 
looked  down  at  her  superbly  and  held  out  his  hand ;  it 
closed  on  hers  in  a  large  genial  clasp. 

''So  this  is  my  secretary,  is  it?" 

"Yes.  And  don't  forget  she's  my  companion  as  well 
as  your  secretary." 

"I  never  forget  anything  that  you  wish  me  to  re- 
member." (Only  he  said  "nevah"  and  "remembah"; 
he  bowed  as  he  said  it  in  a  very  courtly  way.) 

Barbara  noticed  that  his  black  hair  and  moustache 
were  lightly  grizzled,  there  was  loose  flesh  about  his  eye- 
lids, his  chin  had  doubled,  and  his  cheeks  were  sagging 
from  the  bone,  otherwise  he  was  exactly  like  his  por- 
trait; these  changes  made  him  look,  if  anything,  more 
incorruptibly  dignified  and  more  solemn.  He  had  re- 
mained on  his  feet  (for  his  breeding  was  perfect),  mov- 
ing between  the  tea-table  and  Barbara,  bringing  her  tea, 
milk  and  sugar,  and  things  to  eat.  Altogether  he  was 
so  simple,  so  genial  and  unmysterious  that  Barbara 
could  only  suppose  that  Ralph  had  been  making  fun 
of  her,  of  her  wonder,  her  curiosity. 

"My  dear,  what  a  colour  you've  got!" 

Fanny  put  up  her  hands  to  her  own  cheeks  to  draw 
attention  to  Barbara's.     "You  are  growing  a  country 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  21 

girl,  aren't  you?     You  should  have  seen  her  white  face 
when  she  came,  Horatio." 

"What  has  she  been  doing  to  herself?"  He  had  set- 
tled again  into  his  chair  and  his  attitude. 

"She's  been  out  walking  with  Ralph." 

"With  Ealph  ?     Is  he  here  still  ?" 

"Why  shouldn't  he  be?" 

Mr.  Waddington  shrugged  his  immense  shoulders. 
"It's  a  question  of  taste.  If  he  likes  to  hang  about  the 
place  after  his  behaviour " 

"Poor  boy!  whatever  has  he  done?  'Behaviour' 
makes  it  sound  as  if  it  had  been  something  awful." 

"We  needn't  go  into  it,  I  think." 

"But  you  are  going  into  it,  darling,  all  the  time.  Do 
you  mean  to  keep  it  up  against  him  for  ever  ?" 

"I'm  not  keeping  anything  up.  What  Ralph  Bevan 
does  is  no  concern  of  mine.  Since  I'm  not  to  be  in- 
convenienced by  it — since  Miss  Madden  has  come  to 
my  rescue  so  charmingly — I  shall  not  give  it  another 
thought." 

He  turned  to  Barbara  as  to  a  change  of  subject. 
"Had  you  any  diiBculty" — (his  voice  was  measured 
and  important) — "in  finding  your  way  here?" 

"None  at  all." 

"Ah,  that  one-thirty  train  is  excellent.  Excellent. 
But  if  you  had  not  told  the  guard  to  stop  at  Wyck-on- 


23  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

the-Hill  you  would  have  been  carried  on  to  Chelten- 
ham. Which  would  have  been  very  awkward  for  you. 
.Very  awkward  indeed." 

"My  dear  Horatio,  what  did  you  suppose  she  would 
do?" 

"My  dear  Fanny,  there  are  many  things  she  might 
have  done.  She  might  have  got  into  the  wrong  coach 
at  Paddington  and  been  carried  on  to  Worcester." 

"And  that,"  said  Barbara,  "would  have  been  much 
worse  than  Cheltenham." 

"The  very  thought  of  it,"  said  Fanny,  "makes  me 
shudder.  But  thank  God,  Barbara,  you  didn't  do  any 
of  those  things." 

Mr.  Waddington  shifted  the  crossing  of  his  legs  as  a 
big  dog  shifts  his  paws  when  you  laugh  at  him;  the 
more  Fanny  laughed  the  more  dignified  and  solemn  he 
became. 

"You  haven't  told  me  yet,  Horatio,  what  you  did  in 
London." 

"I  was  just  going  to  tell  you  when  Miss  Madden — 
so  delightfully — came  in." 

At  that  Barbara  thought  it  discreet  to  dismiss  herself, 
but  Fanny  called  her  back.  "What  are  you  running 
away  for?  He  didn't  do  anything  in  London  he 
wouldn't  like  you  to  hear  about." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  particularly  wish  Miss  Madden 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  23 

to  hear  about  it.  I  am  starting  a  branch  of  the  Na- 
tional League  of  Liberty  in  Wyck.  You  may  have 
heard  of  it?" 

"Yes.  I've  heard  of  it.  I've  even  seen  the  pros- 
pectus." 

"Good.  Well,  Fanny,  I  lunched  yesterday  with  Sir 
Maurice  Gedge,  and  he's  as  keen  as  mustard.  He 
agrees  with  me  that  the  League  will  be  no  good,  no 
good  at  all,  until  it's  taken  up  strong  in  the  provinces. 
He  wants  me  to  start  at  once.  Just  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  my  Committee." 

"My  dear,  if  you've  got  to  have  a  Conmaittee  first 
you'll  never  start." 

"It  depends  altogether  on  who  I  get.  And  it'll  be 
my  Committee.  Sir  Maurice  was  very  emphatic  about 
that.  He  agrees  with  me  that  if  you  want  a  thing 
done,  and  done  well,  you  must  do  it  yourself.  There 
can  only  be  oTie  moving  spirit.  The  Committee  will 
have  nothing  to  do  but  carry  out  my  ideas." 

"Then  be  sure  you  get  a  Committee  that  hasn't  any 
of  its  own." 

"That  will  not  be  difScult,"  said  Mr.  Waddington, 
"in  Wyck.  .  .  .  The  first  thing  is  the  prospectus. 
That's  where  you  come  in.  Miss  Madden." 

"You  mean  the  first  thing  is  that  Barbara  draws 
up  the  prospectus." 


24  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Under  my  supervision." 

"The  next  thing/'  Fanny  said,  "is  to  conceal  your 
prospectus  from  your  Committee  till  it's  in  print.  You 
come  to  your  Committee  with  your  prospectus.  You 
don't  offer  it  for  discussion." 

"Supposing,"  Barbara  said,  "they  insist  on  discuss- 
ing it?" 

"They  won't,"  said  Fanny,  "once  it's  printed,  espe- 
cially if  it's  paid  for.  You  must  get  Pyecraft  to  send 
in  his  bill  at  once.  And  if  they  do  start  discussing 
you  can  put  them  off  with  the  date  and  place  of  the 
meeting  and  the  wording  of  the  posters.  That'll  give 
them  something  to  talk  about.  I  suppose  you'll  be 
chairman." 

"Well,  I  think,  in  the  circumstances,  they  could 
hardly  appoint  anybody  else." 

"I  don't  know.  Somebody  might  suggest  Sir  John 
Corbett." 

Mr.  Waddington's  face  sagged  with  dismay  as  Fanny 
presented  this  unpleasant  possibility. 

"I  don't  think  Sir  John  would  care  about  it.  I  shall 
suggest  it  to  him  myself;  but  I  don't  think " 

After  all.  Sir  John  Corbett  was  a  lazy  man. 

"When  you've  roused  Sir  John,  if  you  ever  do  rouse 
him,  then  you'll  have  to  round  up  all  the  towns  and  vil- 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  25 

lages  for  twenty  miles.  It's  a  pity  you  can't  have 
Ralph;  he  would  have  rounded  them  for  you  in  no 
time  on  his  motor-bike." 

"I  am  quite  capable  of  rounding  them  all  up  myself, 
thank  you." 

"Well,  dear,"  said  Fanny  placably,  "it'll  keep  you 
busy  for  the  next  six  months,  and  that'll  be  nice.  You 
won't  miss  the  war  then  so  much,  will  you  ?" 

'"Miss  the  war?" 

"Yes,  you  do  miss  it,  darling.  He  was  a  special 
constable,  Barbara;  and  he  sat  on  tribunals;  and  he 
drove  his  motor-car  like  mad  on  government  service. 
He  had  no  end  of  a  time.  It's  no  use  your  saying  you 
didn't  enjoy  it,  Horatio,  for  you  did." 

"I  was  glad  to  be  of  service  to  my  country  as  much 
as  any  soldier,  but  to  say  that  I  enjoyed  the  war " 

"If  there  hadn't  been  a  war  there  wouldn't  have  been 
any  service  to  be  glad  about." 

"My  dear  Fanny,  it's  a  perfectly  horrible  suggestion. 
Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  would  have  brought  about 
that — that  infamous  tragedy,  that  I  would  have  sent 
thousands  and  thousands  of  our  lads  to  their  deaths  to 
get  a  job  for  myself?  If  I  thought  for  one  moment 
that  you  were  serious " 

"You  don't  like  me  to  be  anything  else,  dear." 


26  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

''I  certainly  don't  like  you  to  joke  about  such  sub- 
jects." 

"Ob,  come,"  said  Fanny,  "we  all  enjoyed  our  war  jobs 
except  poor  Ralpb,  wbo  got  gassed  first  tbing,  and  then 
concussed  witb  a  sbell-burst." 

"Ob,  did  be?"  said  Barbara. 

"He  did.  And  don't  you  tbink,  Horatio,  consider- 
ing tbe  rotten  time  be's  bad,  and  tbat  be  lost  a  lucrative 
job  tbrougb  tbe  war,  and  tbat  you've  done  bim  out  of 
bis  secretarysbip,  don't  you  tbink  you  migbt  forgive 
bim?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Horatio,  "I  forgive  bim." 

He  bad  got  up  to  go  and  bad  reacbed  tbe  door  wben 
Fanny  called  bim  back.  "And  I  can  write  and  ask  bim 
to  come  and  dine  to-morrow  nigbt,  can't  I  ?  I  want 
to  be  quite  sure  tbat  be  does  dine." 

"I  bave  never  said  or  implied,"  said  Horatio,  "tbat 
be  was  not  to  come  and  dine." 

Witb  tbat  be  left  tbem. 

"Tbe  beautiful  tbing  about  Horatio,"  said  Fanny, 
"is  tbat  be  never  bears  a  grudge  against  people,  no 
matter  wbat  be's  done  to  tbem.  I've  no  doubt  tbat 
Ralpb  was  excessively  provoking  and  put  bim  in  tbe 
wrong,  and  yet,  tbougb  be  was  in  tbe  wrong,  and  knows 
be  was  in  it,  be  doesn't  resent  it.  He  doesn't  resent 
it  tbe  least  little  bit." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  27 

2 

Barbara  wondered  how  and  where  she  would  be  ex- 
pected to  spend  her  evenings  now  that  Fanny's  husband 
had  come  home.  Being  secretary  to  Mr.  Waddington 
and  companion  to  Fanny  wouldn't  moan  being  compan- 
ion to  both  of  them  at  once.  So  when  Horatio  appeared 
in  the  drawing-room  after  coffee,  she  asked  if  she  might 
sit  in  the  morning-room  and  write  letters. 

"Do  you  want  to  sit  in  the  morning-room?"  said 
Fanny, 

"Well,  I  ought  to  write  those  letters." 

"There's  a  fire  in  the  library.  You  can  write  there. 
Can't  she,  Horatio?" 

Mr.  Waddington  looked  up  with  the  benign  ex- 
pression he  had  had  when  he  came  on  Barbara  alone 
in  the  drawing-room  before  dinner,  a  look  so  directed 
to  her  neck  and  shoulders  that  it  told  her  how  well  her 
low-cut  evening  frock  became  her. 

"She  shall  sit  anywhere  she  likes.  The  library  is 
hers  whenever  she  wants  to  use  it." 

Barbara  thought  she  would  rather  like  the  librarv. 
As  she  went  she  couldn't  help  seeing  a  look  on  Fanny's 
face  that  pleaded,  that  would  have  kept  her  with  her. 
She  thought :  She  doesn't  want  to  be  alone  with  bim. 

She  judged  it  better  to  ignore  that  look. 


!88  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

She  had  been  about  an  hour  in  the  library ;  she  had 
written  her  letters  and  chosen  a  book  and  curled  herself 
up  in  the  big  leather  chair  and  was  reading  when  Mr. 
Waddington  came  in.  He  took  no  notice  of  her  at 
first,  but  established  himself  at  the  writing-table  with 
his  back  to  her.  He  would,  of  course,  want  her  to  go. 
She  uncurled  herself  and  went  quietly  to  the  door. 

Mr.  Waddington  looked  up. 

"You  needn't  go,"  he  said. 

Something  in  his  face  made  her  wonder  whether  she 
ought  to  stay.  She  remembered  that  she  was  Mrs. 
Waddington's  companion. 

"Mrs.  Waddington  may  want  me." 

"Mrs.  Waddington  has  gone  to  bed.  .  .  .  Don't  go 
— unless  you're  tired.  I'm  getting  my  thoughts  on 
paper  and  I  may  want  you." 

She  remembered  that  she  was  Mr.  Waddington's  sec- 
retary. 

She  went  back  to  her  chair.  It  was  only  his  face  that 
had  made  her  wonder.  His  great  back,  bent  to  his  task, 
was  like  another  person  there;  absorbed  and  unmoved, 
it  chaperoned  them.  From  time  to  time  she  heard 
brief  scratches  of  his  pen  as  he  got  a  thought  down.  It 
was  ten  o'clock. 

When  the  half-hour  struck  Mr.  Waddington  gave  a 
thick  "Ha !"  of  irritation  and  got  up. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  29 

"It's  no  use,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  in  form  to-night. 
I  suppose  it's  the  journey." 

He  came  to  the  fireplace  and  sat  down  heavily  in  the 
opposite  chair.  Barbara  was  aware  of  his  eyes,  con- 
sidering, appraising  her. 

"My  wife  tells  me  she  has  had  a  delightful  time 
with  you." 

'I've  had  a  delightful  time  with  her." 

'I'm  glad.  My  wife  is  a  very  delightful  woman; 
but,  you  know,  you  mustn't  take  ever)i;hing  she  says 
too  seriously." 

"I  won't.     I'm  not  a  very  serious  person  myself." 

"Don't  say  that.     Don't  say  that." 

"Very  well.  I  think,  if  you  don't  want  me,  I'll  say 
good  night." 

"Seriously?" 

"Seriously." 

He  had  risen  as  she  rose  and  went  to  open  the  door 
for  her.  He  escorted  her  through  the  amoke-room  and 
stood  ttere  at  the  further  door,  holding  out  his  hand, 
benignant  and  superbly  solemn. 

"Good  night,  then,"  he  said. 

She  told  herself  that  she  was  wrong,  quite  wrong 
about  his  poor  old  face.  There  was  nothing  in  it,  noth- 
ing but  that  grave  and  unadventurous  benignity.  His 
mood  had  been,  she  judged,  purely  paternal.     Paternal 


30  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

and  childlike,  too ;  pathetic,  if  you  came  to  think  of  it, 
in  his  clinging  to  her  presence,  her  companionship. 
"It  must  have  been  my  little  evil  mind,"  she  thought. 

3 

As  she  vt^ent  along  the  corridor  she  remembered  she 
had  left  her  knitting  in  the  drawing-room.  She  turned 
to  fetch  it  and  found  Fanny  still  there,  wide  awake 
with  her  feet  on  the  fender,  and  reading  "Tono- 
Bungay." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Waddington,  I  thought  you'd  gone  to  bed." 

"So  did  I,  dear.  But  I  changed  my  mind  when  I 
found  myself  alone  with  Wells.  He's  too  heavenly 
for  words." 

Barbara  saw  it  in  a  flash,  then.  She  knew  what  she, 
the  companion  and  secretary,  was  there  for.  She  was 
there  to  keep  him  off  her,  so  that  Fanny  might  have 
more  time  to  find  herself  alone  in. 

She  saw  it  all. 

"  *Tono-Bungay,'  "  she  said.  "Was  that  what  you 
sent  me  out  with  Mr.  Bevan  for  ?" 

"It  was.     How  clever  of  you,  Barbara." 


lY 
1 

Me.  Waddington  closed  the  door  on  Miss  Madden 
slowly  and  gently  so  that  the  action  should  not  strike 
her  as  dismissive.  He  then  turned  on  the  lights  by 
the  chimneypiece  and  stood  there,  looking  at  himself 
in  the  glass.  He  wanted  to  know  exactly  how  his  face 
had  presented  itself  to  Miss  Madden.  It  would  not  be 
altogether  as  it  appeared  to  himself;  for  the  glass,  un- 
like the  young  girl's  clear  eyes,  was  an  exaggerating 
and  distorting  medium ;  he  had  noticed  that  his  wife's 
face  in  the  smoke-room  glass  looked  a  good  ten  years 
older  than  the  face  he  knew;  he  calculated,  therefore, 
that  this  faint  greenish  tint,  this  slightly  lop-sided 
elderly  grimace  were  not  truthful  renderings  of  his 
complexion  and  his  smile.  And  as  (in  spite  of  these  de- 
fects, which  you  could  put  down  to  the  account  of  the 
glass)  the  face  Mr.  Waddington  saw  was  still  the  face 
of  a  handsome  man,  he  formed  a  very  favourable  opin- 
ion of  the  face  Miss  Madden  had  seen.  Handsome, 
and  if  not  in  his  first  youth,  then  still  in  his  second. 
Experience  is  itself  a  fascination,  and  if  a  man  has 
any  charm  at  all  his  second  youth  should  be  more 
charming,  more  irresistibly  fascinating  than  his  first. 


32  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

And  the  child  had  been  conscious  of  him.  She  had 
betrayed  uneasiness,  a  sense  of  danger,  when  she  had 
found  herself  alone  with  him.  He  recalled  her  first 
tentative  flight,  her  hesitation.  He  would  have  liked 
to  have  kept  her  there  with  him  a  little  longer,  to  have 
talked  to  her  about  his  League,  to  have  tested  by  a  few 
shrewd  questions  her  ability. 

Better  not.  Better  not.  The  child  was  wise  and 
right.  Her  wisdom  and  rectitude  were  delicious  to 
Mr.  Waddington,  still  more  so  was  the  thought  that  she 
had  felt  him  to  be  dangerous. 

He  went  back  into  his  library  and  sat  again  in  his 
chair  and  meditated :  This  experiment  of  Fanny's 
now;  he  wondered  how  it  would  turn  out,  especially 
if  Fanny  really  wanted  to  adopt  the  girl,  Frank 
Madden's  daughter.  That  impudent  social  comedian 
had  been  so  offensive  to  Mr.  Waddington  in  his  life- 
time that  there  was  something  alluring  in  the  idea  of 
keeping  his  daughter  now  that  he  was  dead,  seeing  the 
exquisite  little  thing  dependent  on  him  for  everything, 
for  food  and  frocks  and  pocket-money.  But  no  doubt 
they  had  been  wise  in  giving  her  the  secretaryship 
before  committing  themselves  to  the  irrecoverable  step ; 
thus  testing  her  in  a  relation  that  could  be  easily  termi- 
nated if  by  any  chance  it  proved  embarrassing. 

But  the  relation  in  itself  was,  as  Mr.  Waddington 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  33 

put  it  to  himself,  a  little  difficult  and  delicate.  It  in- 
volved an  intimacy,  a  closer  intimacy  than  adoption: 
having  her  there  in  his  library  at  all  hours  to  work  with 
him ;  and  always  that  little  uneasy  consciousness  of  hers. 

Well,  well,  he  had  set  the  tone  to-night  for  all  their 
future  intercourse;  he  had  in  the  most  delicate  way 
possible  let  her  see.  It  seemed  to  him,  looking  back  on 
it,  that  he  had  exercised  a  perfect  tact,  parting  from 
her  with  that  air  of  gaiety  and  light  badinage  which 
his  own  instinct  of  self-preservation  so  happily  sug- 
gested. Yet  he  smiled  when  he  recalled  her  look  as 
she  went  from  him,  backing,  backing,  to  the  door;  it 
made  him  feel  very  tender  and  chivalrous ;  virtuous  too, 
as  if  somehow  he  had  overcome  some  unforeseen  and 
ruinous  impulse.  And  all  the  time  he  hadn't  had  any 
impulse  beyond  the  craving  to  talk  to  an  intelligent  and 
attractive  stranger,  to  talk  about  his  League. 

Mr.  Waddington  went  to  bed  thinking  about  it.  He 
even  woke  his  wife  up  out  of  her  sleep  with  the  request 
that  she  would  remind  him  to  call  at  Underwoods  first 
thing  in  the  morning. 

2 

As  soon  as  he  was  awake  he  thought  of  Underwoods. 
Underwoods  was  important.  lie  had  to  round  up  the 
county,  and  he  couldn't  do  that  without  first  consulting 


34  MK.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

Sir  Jolin  Corbett,  of  Underwoods.  As  a  matter  of 
form,  a  mere  matter  of  form,  of  course,  he  would  have 
to  consult  him. 

But  the  more  he  thought  about  it  the  less  he  liked 
the  idea  of  consulting  anybody.  He  was  desperately 
afraid  that,  if  he  once  began  letting  people  into  it,  his 
scheme,  his  League,  would  be  taken  away  from  him; 
and  that  the  proper  thing,  the  graceful  thing,  the  thing 
to  which  he  would  be  impelled  by  all  his  instincts  and 
traditions,  would  be  to  stand  modestly  back  and  see  it 
go.  Probably  into  Sir  John  Corbett's  hands.  And  he 
couldn't.  He  couldn't.  Yet  it  was  clear  that  the 
League,  just  because  it  was  a  League,  must  have  mem- 
bers; even  if  he  had  been  prepared  to  contribute  all 
the  funds  himself  and  carry  on  the  whole  business  of  it 
single-handed,  it  couldn't  consist  solely  of  Mr.  Wad- 
dington  of  Wyck.  His  problem  was  a  subtle  and  dif- 
ficult one:  How  to  identify  himself  with  the  League, 
himself  alone,  in  a  unique  and  indissoluble  manner, 
and  yet  draw  to  it  the  necessary  supporters  ?  How  to 
control  every  detail  of  its  intricate  working  (there  would 
be  endless  wheels  within  wheels) ,  and  at  the  same  time 
give  proper  powers  to  the  inevitable  Committee?  If 
he  did  not  put  it  quite  so  crudely  as  Fanny  in  her  dis- 
agreeable irony,  his  problem  resolved  itself  into  this: 
How  to  divide  the  work  and  yet  rake  in  all  the  credit  ? 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  35 

He  was  saved  from  its  immediate  pressure  by  the 
sight  of  the  envelope  that  waited  for  him  on  the  break- 
fast-table, addressed  in  a  familiar  hand. 

"Mrs.    Levitt "      His    emotion    betrayed    itself 

to  Barbara  in  a  peculiar  furtive  yet  triumphant 
smile. 

"Again?"  said  Fanny.  (There  was  no  end  to  the 
woman  and  her  letters.) 

Mrs.  Levitt  requested  Mr.  Waddington  to  call  on  her 
that  morning  at  eleven.  There  was  a  matter  on  which 
she  desired  to  consult  him.  The  brevity  of  the  note 
revealed  her  trust  in  his  compliance,  trust  that  implied 
again  a  certain  intimacy.  Mr.  Waddington  read  it  out 
loud  to  show  how  harmless  and  open  was  his  communion 
with  Mrs.  Levitt. 

"Is  there  any  matter  on  which  she  has  not  consulted 
you?" 

"There  seems  to  have  been  one.  And,  as  you  see, 
she  is  repairing  the  omission." 

A  light  air,  a  light  air,  to  carry  off  Mrs.  Levitt.  The 
light  air  that  had  carried  off  Barbara,  that  had  made 
Barbara  carry  herself  off  the  night  before.  (It  had 
done  good.  This  morning  the  young  girl  was  all  ease 
and  innocent  unconsciousness  again.) 

"And  I  suppose  you're  going?"  Fanny  said. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go." 


36  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYOK 

"Then  I  shall  have  Barbara  to  myself  all  morning?" 
"You  "will  have  Barbara  to  yourself  all  day." 
He  tried  thus  jocosely  to  convey,  for  Barbara's  good, 
his  indifference  to  having  her.     All  the  same,  it  gave 
him  pleasure  to  say  her  name  like  that:  "Barbara." 

He  v^as  not  sure  that  he  wanted  to  go  and  see  Mrs. 
Levitt  with  all  this  business  of  the  League  on  hand.  It 
meant  putting  off  Sir  John.  You  couldn't  do  Sir  John 
and  Mrs.  Levitt  in  one  morning.  Besides,  he  thought 
.he  knew  what  Mrs.  Levitt  wanted,  and  he  said  to  him- 
self that  this  time  he  would  be  obliged,  for  once,  to  re- 
fuse her. 

But  it  was  not  in  him  to  refuse  to  go  and  see  her. 
So  he  went. 

As  he  walked  up  the  park  drive  to  the  town  he  recalled 
with  distinctly  pleasurable  emotion  the  first  time  he 
had  encountered  Mrs.  Levitt,  the  vision  of  the  smart  lit- 
tle lady  who  had  stood  there  by  the  inner  gate,  the  gate 
that  led  from  the  park  into  the  gi-ounds,  waiting  for  his 
approach  with  happy  confidence.  He  remembered  her 
smile,  an  affair  of  milk-white  teeth  in  an  ivory-white 
face,  and  her  frank  attack:  "Forgive  me  if  I'm  tres- 
passing. They  told  me  there  was  a  right  of  way." 
He  remembered  her  charming  diffidence,  the  naive  rev- 
erence for  his  "grounds"  which  had  compelled  him  to 
escort  her  personally  through  them ;  her  attitudes  of  ad- 


MK.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  37 

miration  as  the  Manor  burst  on  her  from  its  bay  in  the 
beech  trees;  the  interest  she  had  shown  in  its  date 
and  architecture;  and  how,  spinning  out  the  agreeable 
interview,  he  had  gone  with  her  all  the  way  to  the 
farther  gate  that  led  into  Lower  Wyck  village;  and  how 
she  had  challenged  him  there  with  her  "You  must  be 
Mr.  Waddington  of  Wyck,"  and  capped  his  admission 
with  "I'm  Mrs.  Levitt."  To  which  he  had  replied  that 
he  was  delighted. 

And  the  time  after  that — Partridge  had  discreetly 
shown  her  into  the  library — when  she  had  called  to  im- 
plore him  to  obtain  exemption  for  her  son  Toby;  her 
black  eyes,  bright  and  large  behind  tears ;  and  her  cry : 
"I'm  a  war  widow,  Mr.  Waddington,  and  he's  my  only 
child ;"  the  flattery  of  her  belief  that  he,  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton of  Wyck,  had  the  chief  power  on  the  tribunal  (and 
indeed  it  would  have  been  folly  to  pretend  that  he  had 
not  power,  that  he  could  not  "work  it"  if  he  chose). 
And  the  third  time,  after  he  had  "worked  it,"  and  she 
had  come  to  thank  him.  Tears  again ;  the  pressure  of 
a  plump,  ivory-white  haJid;  a  tingling,  delicious 
memory. 

After  that,  his  untiring  efforts  to  get  a  war  job  for 
Toby.  There  had  been  difficulties,  entailing  many  vis- 
its to  Mrs.  Levitt  in  the  little  house  in  the  Market 
Square  of  Wyck-on-the-Hill ;  but  in  the  end  he  had  had 


38  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

the  same  intoxicating  experience  of  his  power,  all  ob- 
structions going  down  before  Mr.  Waddington  of 
Wyck. 

And  this  year,  when  Toby  was  finally  demobilized, 
it  was  only  natural  that  she  should  draw  on  Mr.  Wad- 
dington's  influence  again  to  get  him  a  permanent  peace 
job.  He  had  got  it;  and  that  meant  more  visits  and 
more  gratitude;  till  here  he  was,  attached  to  Mrs. 
Levitt  by  the  unbreakable  tie  of  his  benefactions.  He 
was  even  attached  to  her  son  Toby,  whose  continued 
existence,  to  say  nothing  of  his  activity  in  Mr.  Bos- 
tock's  Bank  at  Wyck,  was  a  perpetual  tribute  to  his 
power.  Mr.  Waddington  had  nothing  like  the  same 
complacence  in  thinking  of  his  own  son  Horace;  but 
then  Horace's  existence  and  his  activity  were  not  a 
tribute  but  a  menace,  a  standing  danger,  not  only  to 
his  power  but  to  his  fascination,  his  sense  of  himself 
as  a  still  young,  still  brilliant  and  effective  personality. 
(Horace  inherited  his  mother's  deplorable  lack  of  se- 
riousness.) And  it  was  in  Mrs.  Levitt's  society  that 
Mr.  Waddington  was  most  conscious  of  his  youth,  his 
brilliance  and  effect.  With  an  agreeable  sense  of  an- 
ticipation he  climbed  up  the  slopes  of  Sheep  Street  and 
Park  Street,  and  so  into  the  Square. 

The  house,  muffled  in  ivy,  hid  discreetly  in  the  far 
corner,  behind  the  two  tall  elms  on  the  Green.     Mrs. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  39 

Trinder,  the  landlady,  had  a  sidelong  bend  of  the  head 
and  a  smile  that  acknowledged  him  as  Mr.  Waddington 
of  Wyck  and  Mrs.  Levitt's  benefactor. 

And  as  he  waited  in  the  low,  mullion-darkened  room 
he  reminded  himself  that  he  had  come  to  refuse  her 
request.  If,  as  he  suspected,  it  was  the  Ballingers' 
cottage  that  she  wanted.  To  be  sure,  the  Ballingers 
had  notice  to  quit  in  June,  but  he  couldn't  very  well 
turn  the  Ballingers  out  if  they  wanted  to  stay,  when 
there  wasn't  a  decent  house  in  the  place  to  turn  them 
into.  He  would  have  to  make  this  very  clear  to  Mrs. 
Levitt. 

Not  that  he  approved  of  Ballinger.  The  fellow,  one 
of  his  best  farm  hands,  had  behaved  infamously,  first  of 
all  demanding  preposterous  wages,  and  then,  just  be- 
cause Mr.  Waddington  had  refused  to  be  brow-beaten, 
leaving  his  service  for  Colonel  Grainger's.  Colonel 
Grainger  had  behaved  infamously,  buying  Foss  Bank 
with  the  money  he  had  made  in  high  explosives,  and 
then  letting  fly  his  confounded  Socialism  all  over  the 
county.  Knowing  nothing,  mind  you,  about  local  con- 
ditions, and  actually  raising  the  rate  of  wages  without 
consulting  anybody,  and  upsetting  the  farm  labourers 
for  miles  round.  At  a  time  when  the  prosperity  of  the 
entire  country  depended  ou  the  farmers.  Still,  Mr. 
Waddington  was  not  the  man  to  take  a  petty  revenge 


40  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

on  liis  inferiors.  He  didn't  blame  Ballinger ;  he  blamed 
Colonel  Grainger.  He  would  like  to  see  Grainger  boy- 
cotted by  the  whole  county.  ' 

The  door  opened.  He  strode  forward  and  found 
himself  holding  out  a  sudden,  fervid  hand  to  a  lady  who 
was  not  Mrs.  Levitt.  He  drew  up,  turning  his  gesture 
into  a  bow,  rather  unnecessarily  ceremonious;  but  he 
could  not  annihilate  instantaneously  all  that  feiTOur. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Levitt's  sister,  Mrs.  Rickards.  Mr. 
Waddington,  is  it  not  ?  I'll  tell  Elise  you're  here.  I 
know  she'll  be  glad  to  see  you.  She  has  been  very  much 
upset." 

She  remained  standing  before  him  long  enough  for 
him  to  be  aware  of  a  projecting  bust,  of  white  serge, 
of  smartness,  of  purplish  copper  hair,  a  raking  panama's 
white  brim,  of  eyebrows,  a  rouged  smile,  and  a  smell  of 
orris  root.  Before  he  could  grasp  its  connexion  with 
Mrs.  Levitt  this  amazing  figure  had  disappeared  and 
given  place  to  a  tapping  of  heels  and  a  furtive,  scuf- 
fling laugh  on  the  stairs  outside.  A  shriller  laugh — that 
must  be  Mrs.  Rickards — a  long  Sh-sh-sh!  Then  the 
bang  of  the  front  door  covering  the  lady's  retreat,  and 
Mrs.  Levitt  came  in,  stifling  merriment  under  a  minute 
pocket-handkerchief. 

He  took  it  in  then.     They  were  sisters,  Mrs.  Rick- 
ards and  Elise  Levitt.     Elise,  if  you  cared  to  be  criti- 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  41 

cal,  had  the  same  defects:  short  legs,  loose  hips;  the 
same  exaggerations:  the  toppling  breasts  underpinned 
by  the  shafts  of  her  stays.  Not  Mr.  Waddington's 
tasta  And  yet — and  yet  Elise  had  contrived  a  charm- 
ing and  handsome  effect  out  of  black  eyes  and  the  milk- 
white  teeth  in  the  ivory-white  face.  The  play  of  the 
black  eyebrows  distracted  you  from  the  equine  bend 
of  the  nose  that  sprang  between  them ;  the  movements 
of  her  mouth,  the  white  flash  of  its  smile,  made  you 
forget  its  thinness  and  hardness  and  the  slight  heaviness 
of  its  jaw.  Something  foreign  about  her.  Something 
French.  Piquant.  And  then,  her  clothes.  Mrs. 
Levitt  wore  a  coat  and  skirt,  her  sister's  white  serge 
with  a  distinction,  a  greyish  stripe  or  something;  clean 
straightness  that  stiffened  and  fined  down  her  exuber- 
ance. One  jewel,  one  bit  of  gold,  and  she  might  have 
been  vulgar.  But  no.  He  thought:  she  knows  what 
becomes  her.  Immaculate  purity  of  white  gloves, 
white  shoes,  white  panama ;  and  the  black  points  of  the 
ribbon,  of  her  eyebrows,  her  eyes  and  hair.  After  all, 
the  sort  of  woman  Mr.  Waddington  liked  to  be  seen  out 
walking  with.     She  made  him  feel  slender. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Waddington,  how  good  of  you !" 
"My  dear  Mrs.  Levitt — always  delighted — when  it's 
possible — to  do  anything." 

As  she  covered  him  with  her  brilliant  eyes  he  tight- 


42  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

ened  his  shoulders  and  stood  firm,  while  his  spirit 
braced  itseK  against  persuasion.  If  it  was  the  Bal- 
iingers'  cottage 

"I  really  am  ashamed  of  myself.     I  never  seem  to 
send  for  you  unless  I'm  in  trouble." 

"Isn't  that  the  time?"     His  voice  thickened.     "So 

long  as  you  do  send "     He  thought:  It  isn't  the 

Ballingers'  cottage  then. 

"It's  your  own  fault.  You've  always  been  so  good, 
so  kind.     To  my  poor  Toby." 

"Nothing  to  do  with  Toby,  I  hope,  the  trouble  ?" 

"Oh,  no.  No.  And  yet  in  a  way  it  has.  I'm 
afraid,  Mr.  Waddington,  I  may  have  to  leave." 

"To  leave  ?     Leave  Wyck  ?" 

"Leave  dear  Wyck." 

"Not  seriously?" 

He  wasn't  prepared  for  that.  The  idea  hit  him  hard 
in  a  place  that  he  hadn't  thought  was  tender. 

"Quite  seriously." 

"Dear  me.  This  is  very  distressing.  Very  distress- 
ing indeed.  But  you  would  not  take  such  a  step  with- 
out consulting  your  friends?" 

"I  am  consulting  you." 

"Yes,  yes.     But  have  you  thought  it  well  over  ?" 

"Thinking  isn't  any  use.  I  shall  have  to,  unless 
something  can  be  done." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  43 

He  thought :  "Financial  difficulties.  Debts.  An  ex- 
pensive lady.  Unless  something  could  be  done  ?"  He 
didn't  know  that  he  was  exactly  prepared  to  do  it.  But 
his  tongue  answered  in  spite  of  him. 

"Something  must  be  done.  We  can't  let  you  go  like 
this,  my  dear  lady." 

"That's  it.  I  don't  see  how  I  can  go,  with  dear  Toby 
here.     Nor  yet  how  I'm  to  stay." 

"Won't  you  tell  me  what  the  trouble  is?" 

"The  trouble  is  that  Mrs.  Trinder's  son's  just  been 
demobilized,  and  she  wants  our  rooms  for  his  wife  and 
family." 

"Come — surely  we  can  find  other  rooms." 

"All  the  best  ones  are  taken.  There's  nothing  left 
that  I'd  care  to  live  in.  .  .  .  Besides,  it  isn't  rooms 
I  want,  Mr.  Wadding-ton,  it's  a  house." 

It  was,  of  course,  the  Ballingers'  cottage.  But  she 
couldn't  have  it.     She  couldn't  have  it. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  how  small  it  was.  If  only  I  had  a 
little  home  of  my  own.  You  don't  know,  Mr.  Wad- 
dington,  what  it  is  to  be  without  a  home  of  your  own. 
I  haven't  had  a  home  for  years.  Five  years.  Not 
since  the  war." 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Waddington,  "at  present  there 
isn't  a  house  for  you  in  Wyck." 

He  brooded  earnestly,  as  though  he  were  trying  to 


44  MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK 

conjure  up,  to  create  out  of  nothing,  a  house  for  her 
and  a  home. 

"No.  But  I  understand  that  the  Ballingers  will  be 
leaving  in  June.  You  said  that  at  any  time,  if  you 
had  a  house,  I  should  have  it." 

"I  said  a  house,  Mrs.  Levitt,  not  a  cottage." 

"It's  all  the  same  to  me.  The  Ballino'crs'  cotta2:e 
could  be  made  into  an  adorable  little  house." 

"It  could.     With  a  few  hundred  pounds  spent  on  it." 

"Well,  you'd  be  improving  your  property,  wouldn't 
you  ?     And  you'd  get  it  back  in  the  higher  rent." 

"I'm  not  thinking  about  getting  anything  back.  And 
nothing  would  please  me  better.  Only,  you  see,  I  can't 
very  well  turn  Ballinger  out  as  long  as  he  behaves 
himself." 

"I  wouldn't  have  him  turned  out  for  the  world.  .  .  . 
But  do  you  consider  that  Ballinger  has  behaved  him- 
self?" 

"Well,  he  played  me  a  dirty  trick,  perhaps,  when  he 
went  to  Grainger;  but  if  Grainger  can  afford  to  pay 
for  him  I've  no  right  to  object  to  his  being  bought.  It 
isn't  a  reason  for  turning  the  man  out." 

"I  don't  see  how  he  can  expect  you  to  refuse  a  good 
tenant  for  him." 

"I  must  if  I  haven't  a  good  house  to  put  him  into." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  45 

"He  doesn't  expect  it,  Mr.  Waddington.  Didn't  you 
give  him  notice  in  December  ?" 

"A  mere  matter  of  form.  Ho  knows  he  can  stay  on 
if  there's  nowhere  else  for  him  to  go  to." 

"Then  why,"  said  Mrs.  Levitt,  "does  he  go  about 
saying  that  he  dares  you  to  let  the  cottage  over  his 
head  ?" 

"Does  he?     Does  he  say  that?" 

"He  says  he'll  pay  you  out.  He'll  summons  you. 
He  was  most  abusive." 

Mr.  Waddington's  face  positively  swelled  with  the 
choleric  flush  that  swamped  its  genial  fatuity, 

"It  seems  somebod}'  told  him  you  were  going  to  do 
up  the  cottage  and  let  it  for  more  rent." 

"I  don't  know  who  could  have  spread  that  story." 

"I  assure  you,  Mr,  Waddington,  it  wasn't  me!" 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Levitt,  of  course.  ...  I  won't  say 
I  wasn't  thinking  of  it,  and  that  I  wouldn't  have  done 
it,  if  I  could  have  got  rid  of  Ballinger.  .  .  ."  He  medi- 
tated. 

"I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  get  rid  of  him.  If  he 
dares  me,  the  scoundrel,  he's  simply  asking  for  it.  And 
he  shall  have  it." 

"Oh,  but  I  wouldn't  for  worlds  have  him  turned 
into  the  street.     With  his  wife  and  babies." 

"My  dear  lady,  I  shan't  turn  them  into  the  street.     I 


46  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

shouldn't  be  allowed  to.  There's  a  cottage  at  Lower 
Wyck  they  can  go  into.  The  one  he  had  when  he  first 
came  to  me.'' 

He  wondered  why  he  hadn't  thought  of  it  before.  It 
wasn't,  as  it  stood,  a  decent  cottage;  but  if  he  was  pre- 
pared to  spend  fifty  pounds  or  so  on  it,  it  could  be  made 
habitable;  and,  by  George,  he  was  prepared,  if  it  was 
only  to  teach  Ballinger  a  lesson.  For  it  meant  that 
Ballinger  would  have  to  walk  an  extra  mile  up  hill 
to  his  work  every  day.  Serve  him  right,  the  impudent 
rascal. 

"Poor  thing,  he  won't,"  said  Mrs.  Levitt,  "have  his 
nice  garden." 

"He  won't.  Ballinger  must  learn,"  said  Mr.  Wad- 
dington  with  magisterial  severity,  "that  he  can't  have 
everything.  He  certainly  can't  have  it  both  ways. 
Abuse  and  threaten  me  and  expect  favours.  He  may 
go  ...  to  Colonel  Grainger." 

"If  it  really  must  happen,"  said  Mrs.  Levitt,  "do 
you  mean  that  I  may  have  the  house?" 

"I  shall  be  only  too  delighted  to  have  such  a  charm- 
ing tenant." 

"Well,  I  shan't  threaten  and  abuse  you  and  call  you 
every  nasty  name  under  the  sun.  And  you  won't,  you 
won't  turn  me  out  when  my  lease  is  up  ?" 

He  bowed  over  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  47 

'  "You  shall  never  be  turned  out  as  long  as  you  want 
to  stay." 

By  twelve  o'clock  they  had  arranged  the  details ;  Mr. 
Waddington  was  to  put  in  a  bathroom;  to  throw  the 
two  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  into  one;  to  build  out 
a  new  sitting-room  with  a  bedroom  over  it ;  and  to  paint 
and  distemper  the  place,  in  cream  white,  throughout. 
And  it  was  to  be  called  the  White  House.  By  the  time 
they  had  finished  with  it  Ballinger's  cottage  had  be- 
come the  house  Mrs.  Levitt  had  dreamed  of  all  her  life, 
and  not  unlike  the  house  Mr.  Waddington  had  dreamed 
of  that  minute  (while  he  planned  the  bathroom)  ;  the 
little  bijou  house  where  an  adorable  but  not  too  rigor- 
ously moral  lady He  stopped  with  a  mental  jerk, 

ashamed.  He  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  EKse  was 
or  would  become  such  a  lady. 

And  the  poor  innocent  woman  was  saying,  "Just  one 
thing,  Mr.  Waddington,  the  rent?" 

(No  earthly  reason.)  "We  can  talk  about  that  an- 
other time.     I  shan't  be  hard  on  you." 

No.  He  wouldn't  be  hard  on  her.  But  in  that  other 
case  there  wouldn't  have  been  any  rent  at  all. 

As  he  left  the  house  he  could  see  Mrs.  Rickards  hur- 
rying towards  it  across  the  square. 

"She  waddles  like  a  duck,"  he  thought.  The  move- 
ment suggested  a  plebeian  excitement  and  curiosity  that 


48  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

displeased  him.  He  recalled  her  face.  Her  extraor- 
dinary face.  ''Quite  enough,"  he  thought,  "to  put  all 
that  into  my  head.    Poor  Elise." 

He  liked  to  think  of  her.  It  made  him  feel  what 
he  had  felt  last  night  over  Barbara  Madden — virtuous 
— as  though  he  had  struggled  and  got  the  better  of  an 
impetuous  passion.  He  was  so  touched  by  his  own 
beautiful  renunciation  that  when  he  found  Fanny  work- 
ing in  the  garden  he  felt  a  sudden  tenderness  for  her 
as  the  cause  of  it.  She  looked  up  at  him  from  her  pansy 
bed  and  laughed.  "What  are  you  looking  so  sentimental 
for,  old  thing?" 

3 

Mrs.  Levitt's  affair  settled,  he  could  now  give  his 
whole  time  to  the  serious  business  of  the  day. 

He  was  exceedingly  anxious  to  get  it  over.  Nothing 
could  be  more  disturbing  than  Fanny's  suggestion  that 
the  name  of  Sir  John  Corbett  might  carry  more  weight 
with  his  Committee  than  his  own.  The  Waddingtons 
of  Wyck  had  ancestry,  Waddingtons  had  held  Lower 
Wyck  Manor  for  ten  generations,  whereas  Sir  John 
Corbett's  father  had  bought  Underwoods  and  rebuilt 
it  somewhere  in  the  'seventies.  On  the  other  hand  Sir 
John  was  the  largest  and  richest  landowner  in  the  place. 
He  could  buy  up  Wyck-on-the-Hill  to-morrow  and 
thrive  on  the  transaction.     He  therefore   represented 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  49 

the  larger  vested  interest.  And  as  the  whole  object 
of  the  League  was  the  safeguarding  of  vested  interests, 
in  other  words,  of  liberty,  that  British  liberty  which  is 
bound  up  with  law  and  order,  with  private  property  in 
general  and  landownership  in  particular;  as  the  prin- 
ciple of  its  very  being  was  the  preservation  of  precisely 
such  an  institution  as  Sir  John  himself,  the  Committee 
of  the  Wyck  Branch  of  the  League  could  hardly  avoid 
inviting  him  to  be  its  president.  There  was  no  blink- 
ing the  fact,  and  Fanny  hadn't  blinked  it,  that  Sir  John 
was  the  proper  person.  Most  of  Fanny's  suggestions 
had  a  strong  but  unpleasant  element  of  common  sense. 

But  the  more  interest  he  took  in  the  League,  the  more 
passionately  he  flung  himself  into  the  business  of  its 
creation,  the  more  abhorrent  to  Mr.  Waddington  was 
the  thought  that  the  chief  place  in  it,  the  presidency, 
would  pass  over  his  head  to  Sir  John. 

His  only  hope  was  in  Sir  John's  well-known  indo- 
lence and  irresponsibility.  Sir  John  was  the  exhausted 
reaction  from  the  efforts  of  a  self-made  grandfather 
and  of  a  father  spendthrift  in  energy ;  he  had  had  every- 
thing done  for  him  ever  since  he  was  a  baby,  and  conse- 
quently was  now  unable  or  unwilling  to  do  anything 
for  himself  or  other  people.  You  couldn't  see  him  tak- 
ing an  active  part  in  the  management  of  the  League, 
and  Mr.  Waddington  couldn't  see  himself  doing  all  the 


50  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

work  and  handing  over  all  the  glory  to  Sir  John.  Still, 
between  Mr.  Waddington  and  the  glory  there  was  only 
this  supine  figure  of  Sir  John,  and  Sir  John  once  out 
of  the  running  he  could  count  without  immodesty  on 
the  unanimous  vote  of  any  committee  he  formed  in 
Wyck. 

It  was  possible  that  even  a  Sir  John  Corbett 
would  not  really  carry  it  over  a  Waddington  of  Wyck, 
but  Mr.  Waddington  wasn't  taking  any  risks.  What 
he  had  to  do  was  to  suggest  the  presidency  to  S^ir  Jolin 
in  such  a  way  that  he  would  be  certain  to  refuse  it. 

He  had  the  good  luck  to  find  Sir  John  alone  in  his 
library  at  tea-time,  eating  hot  buttered  toast. 

There  was  hope  for  Mr.  Waddington  in  Sir  John's 
attitude,  lying  back  and  nursing  his  little  round  stom- 
ach, hope  in  the  hot,  buttery  gleam  of  his  cheeks,  in  his 
wide  mouth,  lazy  under  the  jutting  grey  moustache, 
and  in  the  scrabbling  of  his  little  legs  as  he  exerted 
himself  to  stand  upright. 

"Well,  Waddington,  glad  to  see  you." 

He  was  in  his  chair  again.  With  another  prodigious 
effort  he  leaned  forward  and  rang  for  more  tea  and 
more  toast. 

"Did  you  walk?"  said  Sir  John.  His  little  round 
eyes  expressed  horror  at  the  possibility. 

"No,  I  just  ran  over  in  my  car." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  51 

"Drove  yourself?" 

"No.  Too  mucli  effort  qf  attention.  I  find  it  in- 
terferes with  my  thinking." 

"Interferes  with  everything,"  said  Sir  John. 
"  'Spect  you  drove  enough  during  the  war  to  last  you 
for  the  rest  of  your  life." 

"Ah,  Government  service.  A  verv  different  thins;. 
That  reminds  me;  I've  come  to-day  to  consult  you  on 
a  matter  of  public  business." 

"Business?"  (He  noted  Sir  John's  uneasy  pout.) 
"Better  have  some  tea  first."  Sir  John  took  another 
piece  of  buttered  toast. 

If  only  Sir  John  would  go  on  eating.  Nothing  like 
buttered  toast  for  sustaining  that  mood  of  voluptuous 
inertia. 

When  Mr.  Waddington  judged  the  moment  propi- 
tious he  began.  "While  I  was  up  in  London  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  lunching  with  Sir  Maurice  Gedge.  He 
wants  me  to  start  a  branch  of  the  National  Leaaiie  of 
Liberty  here." 

"Liberty  ?  Shouldn't  have  thought  that  was  much  in 
your  line.  Didn't  expect  to  see  you  waving  the  red 
flag,  what  ?  Why  didn't  you  put  him  on  to  our  friend 
Grainger  ?" 

"My  dear  Corbett,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  The 
object  of  the  League  is  to  put  down  all  that  sort  of 


52  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

thing — Socialism — Bolshevism — to  rouse  the  whole 
eounti-y  and  get  it  to  stand  solid  for  order  and  good 
government." 

"H'm.  Is  it  ?  Queer  sort  of  title  for  a  thing  of  that 
sort — League  of  Liberty,  what  ?" 

Mr.  Vv^addington  raised  a  clenched  fist.  Already  in 
spirit  he  was  on  his  platform.  "Exactly  the  title  that's 
needed.  The  people  want  liberty,  always  have  wanted 
it.  We'll  let  'em  have  it.  True  liberty.  British  lib- 
erty. I  tell  you,  Corbett,  we're  out  against  the  tyranny 
of  Labour  minorities.  You  and  I  and  every  man  that's 
got  any  standing  and  any  influence,  we've  got  to  see 
to  it  that  v/o  don't  have  a  revolution  and  Communism 
and  a  Soviet  Government  here." 

"Come,  you  don't  think  the  Bolshies  are  as  strong 
as  all  that,  do  you?" 

Mr.  Waddington  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  arm 
of  his  chair.  "I  know  they  are,"  he  said.  "And  look 
here — if  they  get  the  upper  hand,  it's  the  great  capital- 
ists, the  gi-eat  property  holders,  the  great  Zan<iowners 
like  you  and  me,  Corbett,  who'll  be  the  first  to  suffer. 
.  .  .  Why,  we're  suffering  as  it  is,  here  in  Wyck,  with 
just  the  little  that  fellow  Grainger  can  do.  The  time'U 
come,  mark  my  words,  when  we  shan't  be  able  to  get  a 
single  labourer  to  work  for  us  for  a  fair  wage.     They'll 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  53 

bleed  us  white,  Corbett,  before  they've  done  with  us, 
if  we  don't  make  a  stand,  and  make  it  now. 

"That's  what  the  League's  for,  to  set  up  a  standard, 
something  we  can  point  to  and  say:  These  are  the 
principles  we  stand  for.  Something  you  can  rally  the 
whole  country  round.  We  shall  want  your  sup- 
port  " 


"I  shall  be  very  glad — anything  I  can  do " 

Mr.  Waddington  was  a  little  disturbed  by  this  ready 
acquiescence. 

"Mind  you,  it  isn't  going  to  end  here,  in  Wyck.  I 
shall  start  it  in  Wyck  first ;  then  I  shall  take  it  straight 
to  the  big  towns,  Gloucester^  Cheltenham,  Cirencester, 
Xailsworth,  Stroud.  We'll  set  'em  going  till  we've  got 
a  branch  in  every  town  and  every  village  in  the 
county." 

He  thought:  "That  ought  to  settle  him."  He  had 
created  a  vision  of  intolerable  activity. 

"Bless  me,"  said  Sir  John,  "you've  got  your  work  cut 
out  for  you." 

"Of  course  I  shall  have  to  get  a  local  committee  first. 
I  can't  take  a  step  like  that  without  consulting  you." 

Sir  John  muttered  something  that  sounded  like 
"Very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure." 

"No  more  than  my  duty  to  the  League.  Now,  the 
point  is,  Sir  Maurice  was  anxious  that  /  should  be 


54  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

president  of  this  loeal  branch.  It  needs  somebody  with 
energy  and  determination — the  president's  work,  cer- 
tainly, will  be  cut  out  for  him — and  I  feel  very  strongly, 
and  I  think  that  my  Committee  will  feel  that  you,  Cor- 
bett,  are  the  proper  person." 

''H'm— m." 

''I  didn't  think  I  should  be  justified  in  going  further 
without  first  obtaining  vour  consent." 

''We-ell " 

Mr.  Waddington's  anxiety  was  almost  unbearable. 
The  programme  had  evidently  appealed  to  Sir  John. 
Supposing,  after  all,  he  accepted  ? 

^'I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  undertake  anything  so — so 
arduous,  but  that  it'll  strengthen  my  hands  with  my 
Committee ;  in  fact,  I  may  get  a  much  stronger  and  more 
influential  Committee  if  I  can  come  to  them,  and  tell 
them  beforehand  that  you  have  consented  to  be  presi- 
dent." 

"I  don't  mind  being  president,"  said  Sir  John,  "if  I 
haven't  got  to  do  anything." 

"I'm  afraid — I'm  afraid  we  couldn't  allow  you  to  be 
a  mere  fig-urehead." 

"But  presidents  always  are  figureheads,  aren't 
they  ?" 

There  was  a  bantering  gleam  in  Sir  John's  eyes  that 
irritated  Mr.  Waddington.     That  was  the  worst  of  Cor- 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  55 

bett;  you  couldn't  get  him  to  take  a  serious  thing 
seriously. 

"  'T  any  rate,"  Sir  John  went  on,  "there's  always 
some  secretary  Johnnie  who  runs  round  and  does  the 
work." 

So  that  was  Corhett's  idea:  to  sit  in  his  armchair 
and  bag  all  the  prestige,  while  he,  Waddington  of  Wyck, 
ran  round  and  did  the  work. 

"Not  in  this  case.  In  these  small  local  affairs  you 
can't  delegate  business.  Everything  depends  on  the 
personal  activity  of  the  president." 

"The  deuce  it  does.     How  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  this.  If  Sir  John  Corbett  asks  for  a  sub- 
scription he  gets  it.  We've  got  to  round  up  the  whole 
county  and  all  the  townspeople  and  villagers  It's  no 
use  shooting  pamphlets  at  'em  from  a  motor-car.  They 
like  being  personally  interviewed.  If  Sir  John  Cor- 
bett comes  and  talk  to  them  and  tells  them  they  must 
join,  ten  to  one  they  will  join.' 

"And  there  isn't  any  time  to  be  lost  if  we  want  to 
get  in  first  before  other  places  take  it  up.  It'll  mean 
pretty  sharp  work,  day  in  and  day  out,  rounding  them 
all  up." 

"Oh,  Lord,  Waddington,  don't.  I'm  tired  already 
with  the  bare  idea  of  it." 

"Come,  wc  can't  have  you  tired,  Corbett.     Why,  it 


56  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

won't  be  worse,  it  won  t  be  half  as  bad  as  a  season's 
hunting.     You're  just  the  man  for  it.     Fit  as  fit." 

''Not  half  as  fit  as  I  look,  Waddington." 

"There's  another  thing — the  meetings.  If  the  post- 
ers say  Sir  John  Corbett  will  address  the  meeting 
people'll  come.  If  Sir  John  Corbett  speaks  they'll 
listen." 

"My  dear  fellow,  that  settles  it.  I  can't  speak  for 
nuts.  You  know  I  can't.  I  can  introduce  a  speaker 
and  move  a  vote  of  thanks,  and  that's  about  all  I  can 
do.  It's  your  show,  not  mine.  You  ought  to  be  presi- 
dent, Waddington.     You'll  enjoy  it  and  I  shan't." 

"I  don't  know  at  all  about  enjoying  it.  It'll  be  in- 
fernally hard  work." 

"Precisely." 

"You  don't  mean,  Corbett,  that  you  won't  come  in 
with  us  ?     That  you  won't  come  on  the  Committee  ?" 

"I'll  come  on  all  right  if  I  haven't  got  to  speak,  and 
if  I  haven't  got  to  do  anything.  I  shan't  be  much  good, 
but  I  could  at  least  propose  you  as  president.  You 
couldn't  very  well  propose  yourself." 

"It's  very  good  of  you." 

Mr.  Waddington  made  his  voice  sound  casual  and  in- 
different, so  that  he  might  appear  to  be  entertaining 
the  suggestion  provisionally  and  under  protest. 
"There'll  have  to  be  one  big  meeting  before  the  Commit- 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  57 

tee's  formed  or  anything.  If  I  let  you  off  the  presi- 
dency," ho  said  playfully,  "will  you  take  the  chair?" 

"For  that  one  evening?" 

"That  one  evening  only." 

"You'll  do  all  tlie  talking?" 

"I  shall  have  to." 

"All  right,  my  dear  fellow.  I  daresay  I  can  get 
my  wife  to  come  on  your  committee,  too.  That'll  help 
you  to  rope  in  the  townspeople.  .  .  .  And  now,  sup- 
posing we  drop  it  and  have  a  quiet  smoke." 

He  roused  himself  to  one  more  effort.  "Of  course, 
we'll  send  you  a  subscription,  both  of  us." 

Mr.  Waddington  drove  off  from  Underwoods  in  a 
state  of  pleasurable  elation.  He  had  got  what  he  wanted 
without  appearing — without  appearing  at  all  to  be  play- 
ing for  it.     Corbett  had  never  spotted  him. 

There  he  was  wrong.  At  that  very  moment  Sir  John 
was  relating  the  incident  to  Lady  Corbett. 

"And  you  could  see  all  the  time  the  fellow  wanted 
it  himself.  I  put  him  in  an  awful  funk,  pretending 
I  was  going  to  take  it." 

All  the  same,  he  admitted  very  handsomely  that  the 
idea  of  the  League  was  "topping,"  and  that  Waddington 
was  the  man  for  it.  And  the  subscription  that  he  and 
Lady  Corbett  sent  was  very  handsome,   too.     Unfor- 


58  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

tiinately  it  obliged  Mr.  Waddington  to  contribute  a 
slightly  larger  sum,  by  way  of  maintaining  his  ascen- 
dancy. 

4 

On  his  way  home  he  called  at  the  Old  Dower  House 
in  the  Square  to  see  his  mother.  He  had  arranged  to 
meet  Fanny  and  Barbara  Madden  there  and  drive  them 
home. 

The  old  lady  was  sitting  in  her  chair,  handsome,  with 
dark  eyes  still  brilliant  in  her  white  Roman  face,  a 
small  imperious  face,  yet  soft,  soft  in  its  network  of 
fine  grooves  and  pittings.  An  exquisite  old  lady  in  a 
black  satin  gown  and  white  embroidered  shawl,  with  a 
white  Chantilly  scarf  binding  rolled  masses  of  white 
hair.    She  had  been  a  Miss  Postlethwaite,  of  Medlicott. 

"My  dear  boy — ^so  you've  got  back  ?" 

She  turned  to  her  son  with  a  soft  moan  of  joy,  lift- 
ing up  her  hands  to  hold  his  face  as  he  stooped  to  kiss 
her. 

"How  well  you  look,"  she  said.  "Is  that  London  or 
coming  back  to  Fanny  ?" 

"It's  coming  back  to  you." 

"Ah,  she  hasn't  spoilt  you.  You  know  how  to  say 
nice  things  to  your  old  mother." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  at  his  solemn  face  that  sim- 
mered with  excited  egoism.     Barbara  could  see  that 


MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  59 

he  was  playing — playing  in  his  ponderous,  fatuous 
way,  at  being  her  young,  her  not  more  than  twenty-five 
years  old  son.  lie  turned  with  a  sudden,  sportive, 
caracoling  movement,  to  find  a  chair  for  himself.  He 
was  sitting  on  it  now,  close  beside  his  mother,  and  she 
was  holding  one  of  his  big,  fleshy  hands  in  her  fragile 
bird  claws  and  patting  it. 

From  her  study  of  the  ancestral  portraits  in  the 
Manor  dining-room  Barbara  gathered  that  he  owed  to 
his  mother  the  handsome  Roman  structure  that  held  up 
his  face,  after  all,  so  proudly  through  its  layers  of 
Waddinirton  flesh.  He  had  the  Postlethwaite  nose. 
The  old  lady  looked  at  her,  gratified  by  the  gi-ave  at- 
tention of  her  eyes. 

"Miss  Madden  can't  believe  that  a  little  woman  like 
me  could  have  such  a  gTeat  big  son,"  she  said.  "But, 
you  see,  he  isn't  big  to  me.  He'll  never  be  any  older 
than  thirteen." 

You  could  see  it.  If  he  wasn't  really  thirteen  to 
her  he  wasn't  a  day  older  than  twenty-five;  he  was  her 
young  grown-up  son  whose  caresses  flattered  her. 

"She  spoils  me,  Miss  Madden." 

You  could  see  that  it  pleased  him  to  sit  close  to  her 
knees,  to  have  his  hand  patted  and  be  spoilt. 

"Nonsense.  Now  tell  me  what  happened  at  Under- 
woods.    Is  it  to  be  John  Corbett  or  you  ?" 


60  MPi.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Corbett  says  it's  to  be  me." 

"I'm  glad  he's  had  that  much  sensa  Well — and  now 
tell  me  all  about  this  League  of  yours." 

He  told  her  all  about  it,  and  she  sat  very  quietly, 
listening,  nodding  her  proud  old  head  in  approval.  He 
talked  about  it  till  it  was  time  to  go.  Then  the  old  lady 
became  agitated. 

"My  dear  boy,  you  mustn't  let  Kimber  drive  you  too 
fast  down  that  hill.  Fanny,  will  you  tell  Kimber  to 
be  careful?" 

Her  face  trembled  with  anxiety  as  she  held  it  to 
him  to  be  kissed.  At  that  moment  he  was  her  child,  es- 
caping from  her,  going  out  rashly  into  the  dangerous 
world. 

"I  like  going  to  see  Granny,"  said  Fanny  as  Kim- 
ber tucked  them  up  together  in  the  car.  "She  makes 
me  feel  young." 

"You  may  very  well  feel  it,"  said  Mr.  Waddington. 
"It's  only  my  mother's  white  hair.  Miss  Madden,  that 
makes  her  look  old." 

"I  thought,"  said  Barbara,  "she  looked  ever  so  much 
younger" — she  was  going  to  say,  "than  she  is" — "than 
most  people's  mothers." 

"You  will  have  noticed,"  Fanny  said,  "that  my  hus- 
band is  younger  than  most  people." 

Barbara  noticed  that  lie  had  drawn  himself  up  with 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  61 

an  offended  air,  unnaturally  straight.     He  didn't  like  it, 
this  discussion  about  ages. 

They  were  running  out  of  the  Square  when  Fanny 
remembered  and  cried  out,  "Oh,  stop  him,  Horatio. 
We  must  go  back  and  see  if  Ralph's  coming  to  dinner." 

But  at  the  Whit©  Hart  they  were  told  that  Mr. 
Bevan  had  "gone  to  Oxford  on  his  motor-bike"  and  was 
not  expected  to  return  before  ten  o'clock. 

"Sorry,  Barbara." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  apologize  to  Miss  Mad- 
den, my  dear.  I've  no  doubt  she  can  get  on  very  well 
without  him." 

"She  may  want  something  rather  more  exciting  than 
vou  and  me,  sometimes." 

"I'm  quite  happy,"  Barbara  said. 

"Of  course  you're  happy.  It  isn't  everybody  who 
enjoys  Ralph  Bevan's  society.  I  daresay  you're  like 
me;  you  find  him  a  gi'eat  hindrance  to  serious  conver- 
sation." 

"That's  why  1  enjoy  him,"  Fanny  said.  "We'll  ask 
him  for  to-morrow  night." 

Barbara  tucked  her  chin  into  the  collar  of  her  coat. 
The  car  was  running  down  Sheep  Street  into  Lower 
Wyck.  She  stared  out  abstractedly  at  the  eastern  val- 
ley, the  delicate  gi-een  cornfields  and  pink  fallows,  the 


62  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

muffling  of  dim  trees,  all  washed  in  the  pale  eastern 
blue,  rolling  out  and  up  to  the  blue  ridge. 

It  made  her  happy  to  look  at  it.  It  made  her  happy 
to  think  of  Ralph  Bevan  coming  to-morrow.  If  it  had 
been  to-night  it  would  have  been  all  over  in  three  hours. 
And  something — she  was  not  sui*e  what,  but  felt  that 
it  might  be  Mr.  Waddington — something  would  have 
cut  in  to  spoil  the  happiness  of  it.  But  now  she  had 
it  to  think  about,  and  her  thoughts  were  safe. 
"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Barbara?" 
"The  view,"  said  Barbara.     "I  want  to  sketch  it." 


V 

1 

Mr.  Waddington  was  in  his  library,  drawing  up  his 
prospectus  while  Fanny  and  Barbara  Madden  looked 
on.  At  Fanny's  suggestion  (he  owned  magnanimously 
that  it  was  a  good  one)  he  had  decided  to  "sail  in,"  as 
she  called  it,  with  the  prospectus  first,  not  only  before 
he  formed  his  Committee,  but  before  he  held  his  big 
meeting.  (They  had  fixed  the  date  of  it  for  that  day 
month,  Saturday,  June  the  twenty-first.) 

"You  come  before  them  from  the  beginning,"  she 
said,  "with  something  fixed  and  definite  that  they  can't 
go  back  on."  And  by  signing  the  prospectus,  Horatio 
Bysshe  Waddington,  he  identified  it  beyond  all  conten- 
tion with  himself. 

Tt  was  at  this  point  that  Barbara  had  blundered. 

"Why,"  she  had  said,  "should  we  go  to  all  that  bother 
and  expense?  Why  can't  we  send  out  the  original 
prospectus  ?" 

"My  dear  Barbara,  the  original  prospectus  isn't  any 
good." 

"Why  isn't  it?" 

63 


64  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Because  it  isn't  Horatio's  prospectus." 
Barbara  looked  down  and  away  from  the  dangerous 
light  in  Fanny's  eyes. 

"But  it  expresses  his  views,  doesn't  it?" 
"That's  no  good  when  he  wants   to  express  them 
himself." 

And  so  far  from  being  any  good,  the  original  pros- 
pectus was  a  positive  hindrance  to  Mr.  Waddington. 
It  took  all  the  wind  out  of  his  sails ;  it  took,  as  he  justly 
complained,  the  very  words  out  of  his  mouth  and  the 
ideas  out  of  his  head ;  it  got  in  his  way  and  upset  him 
at  every  turn.  Somehow  or  other  he  had  got  to  stamp 
his  personality  upon  this  thing.  "It's  no  good,"  he 
said;  "if  they  can't  recognize  it  as  a  personal  appeal 
from  ME."  And  here  it  was,  stamped  all  over,  and 
indelibly,  with  the  personalities  of  Sir  Maurice  Gedge 
and  his  London  Committee.  And  he  couldn't  depart 
radically  from  the  lines  they  had  laid  down ;  there  were 
just  so  many  things  to  be  said,  and  Sir  Maurice  and 
his  Committee  had  contrived  to  say  them  all. 

But,  though  the  matter  was  given  him,  Mr.  Wad- 
dington, before  he  actually  tackled  his  prospectus,  had 
conceived  himself  as  supplying  his  own  fresh  and  inimi- 
table manner;  the  happy  touch,  the  sudden,  arresting 
turn.     But  somehow  it  wasn't  working  out  that  way. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  65 

Try  as  be  would,  he  couldn't  get  away  from  the  turns 
and  touches  supplied  by  Sir  Maurice  Gedge. 

"It  would  have  been  easy  enough,"  he  said,  "to  draw 
up  the  original  prospectus.  I'd  a  thousand  times  rather 
do  that  than  write  one  on  the  top  of  it." 

Fanny  agreed.  "It's  got  to  look  different,"  she  said, 
"without  heing  different." 

"Couldn't  we,"  said  Barbara,  "turn  it  upside  down  ?" 

"Upside  down  ?"  He  stared  at  her  with  great  owl's 
eyes,  offended,  suspecting  her  this  time  of  an  outrageous 
levity. 

"Yes.  Really  upside  down.  You  see,  the  heads  go 
in  this  order — Defence  of  Private  Property;  Defence 
of  Capital;  Defence  of  Liberty;  Defence  of  Govern- 
ment; Defence  of  the  Empire;  Danger  of  Revolution, 
Communism  and  Bolshevism;  Every  Man's  Duty. 
Why  not  reverse  them  ?  Every  Man's  Duty ;  Danger  of 
Bolshevism,  Communism  and  Revolution;  Defence  of 
the  Empire;  Defence  of  Government;  Defence  of  Lib- 
erty; Defence  of  Capital;  Defence  of  Private  Prop- 
erty." 

"That's  an  idea,"  said  Fanny. 

"Not  at  all  a  bad  idea,"  said  Mr.  Waddington. 
"You  might  take  down  the  heads  in  that  order." 

Barbara  took  them  down,  and  it  was  agreed  that  they 


66  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

presented  a  very  original  appearance  thus  reversed; 
and,  as  Barbara  pointed  out,  the  one  order  was  every 
bit  as  logical  as  the  other;  and  though  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  objected  that  he  would  have  preferred  to  close  on 
the  note  of  Government  and  Empire,  he  was  open  to 
the  suggestion  that,  while  this  might  appeal  more  to 
the  county,  with  the  farmers  and  townspeople,  capital 
and  private  property  would  strike  further  home.  And 
by  the  time  he  had  changed  "combat  the  forces  of  dis- 
order" to  "take  a  stand  against  anarchy  and  dismp- 
tion,"  and  "spirit  of  freedom  in  this  country"  to  "Brit- 
ish genius  for  liberty,"  and  "darkest  hour  in  England's 
history"  to  "blackest  period  in  the  history  of  England," 
he  was  persuaded  that  the  prospectus  was  now  entirely 
and  absolutely  his  own. 

"But  I  think  we  must  sound  the  note  of  hope  to  end 
up  with.  My  own  message.  How  about  'We  must  re- 
member that  the  darkest  hour  comes,  before  dawn'  ?" 

"My  dear  Horatio,  if  you  inflate  yourself  so  over 
your  prospectus,  you'll  have  no  wind  left  when  you  come 
to  speak.  Be  as  wildly  original  as  you  please,  but 
dont  be  wasteful  and  extravagant." 

"All  right,  Fanny.  I  will  reserve  the  dawn.  Please 
make  a  note  of  that,  Miss  Madden.  Speech.  'Black- 
est'— or  did  I  say  'darkest'  ? — 'hour  before  dawn.'  " 


MB.  WADDIXGTON  OF  WYCK  67 

"You'd  better  reserve  all  you  can,"  said  Fanny. 

When  Barbara  had  typed  the  prospectus,  Mr.  Wad- 
dington  insisted  on  taking  it  to  Pyecraft  himself.  He 
wanted  to  insure  its  being  printed  without  delay,  and 
to  arrange  for  the  posters  and  handbills ;  he  also  wanted 
to  see  the  impression  it  would  make  on  Pyecraft  and 
on  the  young  lady  in  Pyecraft's  shop.  He  liked  to 
think  of  the  stir  in  the  cemposing  room  when  it  was 
handed  in,  and  of  the  importance  he  was  conferring 
on  Pyecraft. 

"You  haven't  said  what  you  think  of  the  prospectus/* 
said  Fanny,  as  they  watched  him  go. 

"I  haven't  said  what  I  think  of  the  League  of 
Liberty." 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"I  think  it  looks  as  if  somebody  was  in  an  awful 
funk;  and  I  don't  see  that  there's  going  to  be  much  lib- 
erty about  it." 

"That,"  said  Fanny,  "is  how  it  struck  me.  But  it'll 
keep  Horatio  quiet  for  the  next  six  months." 

"Quiet?     And  afterwards  ?" 

"Oh,  afterwards  there'll  be  his  book." 

"I'd  forgotten  his  book." 

"That'll  keep  him  quieter  than  anything  else;  if 
you  can  get  him  to  settle  down  to  it." 


68  MK.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 


That  evening  Barbara  witnessed  the  reconciliation 
of  Mr.  Waddington  and  Ealph  Bevan.  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  made  a  spectacle  of  it,  standing,  majestic  and  im- 
movable, by  his  hearth  and  holding  out  his  hand  long 
before  Ralph  had  got  near  enough  to  take  it. 

"Good  evening,  Ealph.     Glad  to  see  you  here  again." 

"Good  of  you  to  ask  me,  sir." 

Barbara  thought  he  winced  a  little  at  the  "sir."  He 
had  a  distaste  for  those  forms  of  deference  which  im- 
plied his  seniority.  You  could  see  he  didn't  like  Ralph. 
His  voice  was  genial,  but  there  was  no  light  in  his 
bulging  stare ;  the  heavy  lines  of  his  face  never  lifted. 
She  wondered:  Was  it  Ralph's  brilliant  youth  that  had 
offended  him,  reminding  him,  even  when  he  refused  to 
recognize  his  fascination  ?  For  you  could  see  that  he 
did  refuse,  that  he  regarded  Ralph  Bevan  as  an  in- 
ferior, insignificant  personality.  Barbara  had  to  re- 
vise her  theory.  He  wasn't  jealous  of  him.  It  would 
never  occur  to  him  that  Fanny,  or  Barbara  for  that 
matter,  could  find  Ralph  interesting.  Nothing  could 
disturb  for  a  moment  his  immense  satisfaction  with 
himself.  He  conducted  dinner  with  a  superb  detach- 
ment, confining  his  attention  to  Fanny  and  Barbara, 
as  if  he  were  pretending  that  Ralph  wasn't  there,  until 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  69 

suddenly  he  heard  Fanny  asking  him  if  he  knew  any- 
thing about  the  National  League  of  Liberty  and  what 
he  thought  of  it. 

"Mr.  Waddington  doesn't  want  to  know  what  I  think 
of  it." 

"No,  but  we  want  to." 

"My  dear  Fanny,  any  opinion,  any  honest 
opinion " 

^Oh,  Ealph's  opinion  will  be  honest  enough." 

"Honest,  I  daresay,"  said  Mr.  Waddington. 

"Well,  if  you  really  want  to  know,  I  think  it's  a  path- 
ological symptom." 

"A  what?"  said  Mr.  Wadding-ton,  startled  into  a 
show  of  interest. 

"Pathological  symptom.  It's  all  funk.  Blue  funk. 
True  blue  funk." 

"That's  what  Barbara  says." 

The  young  man  looked  at  Barbara  as  much  as  to 
say,  "I  knew  I  could  trust  you  to  take  the  only  in- 
telligent view." 

"It's  run,"  he  said,  "by  a  few  imbeciles,  like  Sir 
Maurice  Gedge.  They're  scared  out  of  their  lives  of 
Bolshevism." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Bolrhevism  isn't 
dangerous  ?" 

"Not  in  this  country." 


70  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

'Terhapa,  then,  you'd  like  to  see  a  Soviet  Govern- 
ment in  this  country?" 

"I  didn't  say  so." 

''But  I  understand  that  you  uphold  Bolshevism?" 

'  "I  don't  uphold  funk.     But,"  said  Ralph,  "there's 

rather  more  in  it  than  that.     It's  being  engineered. 

It's  a  deliberate,  dishonest,  and  malicious  attempt  to 

discredit  Labour." 

"Absurd,"  said  Mr.  Waddington.  "You  show  that 
you  are  ignorant  of  the  very  principles  of  the  League." 

If  he  recognized  Ralph's  youth,  it  was  only  to  despise 
it  as  crude  and  uninformed. 

"It   is — the — National — Leag-ue — of   Liberty." 

"Well,  that's  about  all  the  liberty  there  is  in  it — lib- 
erty to  suppress  liberty." 

"You  may  not  know  that  I'm  starting  a  branch  of 
the  League  in  Wyck." 

"I'm  sorry,  sir.  I  did  not  know.  Fanny,  why  did 
you  lay  that  trap  for  me  ?" 

"Because  I  wanted  your  real  opinion." 

"Before  you  set  up  an  opinion,  you  had  better  come 
to  my  meeting  on  the  twenty-first.  Then  perhaps  you'll 
learn  something  about  it." 

Fanny  changed  the  subject  to  Sir  John  Corbett's 
laziness. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  71 

"A  man,"  said  Mr.  Waddington,  "without  any  se- 
riousness, any  sense  of  responsibility." 

After  coffee  Mr.  Waddington  removed  Fanny  to  the 
library  to  consult  with  him  about  the  formation  of  his 
Committee,  leaving  Barbara  and  Ralph  Bevan  alone. 
Fanny  waved  her  hand  to  them  from  the  doorway, 
signalling  her  blessing  on  their  unrestrained  com- 
munion. 

"It's  deplorable,"  said  Ralph,  "to  see  a  woman  of 
Fanny's  intelligence  mixing  herself  up  with  a  rotten 
scheme  like  that." 

"Poor  darling,  she  only  does  it  to  keep  him  quiet." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  admit  there's  every  excuse  for  her." 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled.  A  smile  of 
delicious  and  secret  understanding. 

"Isn't  he  wonderful  ?"  she  said. 

"I  thought  you'd  like  him.  ...  I  say,  you  know, 
I  must  come  to  his  meeting.  He'll  be  more  wonderful 
than  ever  there.     Can't  you  see  him?" 

"I  can.  It's  almost  too  much — to  think  that  I  should 
be  allowed  to  know  him,  to  live  in  the  same  house  with 
him,  to  have  him  turning  himself  on  by  the  hour  to- 
gether.    What  have  I  done  to  deserve  it?" 

"I  see,"  he  said,  "you  have  got  it." 

"Got  what?" 

"The  taste  for  him.     The  genuine  passion.     I  had 


73  ME.  WADDINGTON^  OF  WYCK 

it  when  I  was  here.     I  couldn't  have  stood  it  if  I 
hadn't." 

"I  know.     You  must  have  had  it.     You've  got  it 


now." 


"And  I  don't  suppose  I've  seen  him  anything  like 
at  his  best.     You'll  get  more  out  of  him  than  I  did." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  I  shall  ?" 

"Yes.     He  may  rise  to  greater  heights." 

"You  mean  he  may  go  to  greater  lengths  ?" 

"Perhaps.  I  don't  know.  You'd  have,  of  course, 
to  stop  his  lengths,  which  would  be  a  pity.  I  think 
of  him  mostly  in  heights.  There's  no  reason  why  you 
shouldn't  let  him  soar.  .  .  .  But  I  mustn't  discuss 
him.     I've  just  eaten  his  dinner." 

"No,  we  mustn't,"  Barbara  agreed.  "That's  the 
worst  of  dinners." 

"I  say,  though,  can't  we  meet  somewhere?" 

"Where  we  can?" 

"Yes.  Where  we  can  let  ourselves  rip?  Couldn't 
we  go  for  more  walks  together?" 

"I'm  afraid  there  won't  be  time." 

"There'll  be  loads  of  time.  When  he's  off  in  his 
car  'rounding  up  the  county.'  " 

,    "When  he's   'off,'   I'm   'on'   as  Mrs.   Waddington's 
companion." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  73 

"Fanny  won't  mind.     She'll  let  you  do  anything  you 

like.     At  any  rate,  she'll  let  me  do  anything  /  like." 

"Will  you  ask  her?" 

"Of  course  I  shall." 

So  they  settled  it 

3 

When  Barbara  said  to  herself  that  Mr.  Waddington 
would  spoil  her  evening  with  Ralph  Bevan,  she  had 
judged  by  the  change  that  had  come  over  the  house 
since  the  return  of  its  master.  You  felt  it  first  in  the 
depressed  faces  of  the  servants,  of  Partridge  and  Annie 
Trinder.  A  thoughtful  gloom  had  settled  even  on 
Kimber.  Worse  than  all,  Fanny  Waddington  had  left 
off  humming.  Barbara  missed  that  spontaneous  ex- 
pression of  her  happiness. 

She  thought :  "What  is  it  he  does  to  them  ?"  And 
yet  it  was  clear  that  he  didn't  do  anything.  They  were 
simply  crushed  by  the  sheer  mass  and  weight  of  his 
egoism.  He  imposed  on  them  somehow  his  incredible 
consciousness  of  himself.  He  left  an  atmosphere  of 
uneasiness.  You  felt  it  when  he  wasn't  there;  even 
when  Fanny  had  settled  down  in  the  drawing-room 
with  "Tono-Bungay"  you  felt  her  fear  that  at  any 
minute  the  door  would  open  and  Horatio  would  come  in. 

But  Barbara  wasn't  depressed.  She  enjoyed  the 
perpetual  spectacle  he  made.     She  enjoyed  his  very  in- 


74  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

difference  to  Ralph,  his  refusal  to  see  that  he  could  com- 
mand attention,  his  conviction  of  his  own  superior 
fascination.  She  knew  now  what  Ralph  meant  when 
he  said  it  would  be  unkind  to  spoil  him  for  her.  He 
was  to  burst  on  her  without  preparation  or  description. 
She  was  to  discover  him  first  of  all  herself.  First  of 
all.  But  she  could  see  the  time  coming  when  her  chief 
joy  would  be  their  making  him  out,  bit  by  bit,  together. 
She  even  discerned  a  merry  devil  in  Fanny  that  amused 
itself  at  Horatio's  expense;  that  was  aware  of  Bar- 
bara's amusement  and  condoned  it.  There  were  ulti- 
mate decencies  that  prevented  any  open  communion 
with  Fanny.  But  beyond  that  refusal  to  smile  at  Hora- 
tio after  eating  his  dinner,  she  could  see  no  decencies 
restraining  Ralph.  She  could  count  on  him  when  her 
private  delight  became  intolerable  and  must  be  shared. 

But  there  were  obstacles  to  their  intercourse.  Mr. 
Waddington  couldn't  very  well  start  on  what  he  called 
his  "campaign"  until  he  was  armed  with  his  prospectus, 
and  Pyecraft  took  more  than  a  week  to  print  it.  And 
while  she  sat  idle,  thinking  of  her  salary,  the  fiend  of 
conscience  prompted  Barbara  to  ask  him  for  work. 
Wasn't  there  his  book? 

"My  book?  My  Cotswold  book?"  He  pretended 
he  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  He  waved  it  away. 
"The  book  is  only  a  recreation,  an  amusement.     Plenty 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  75 

of  time  for  that  when  I've  got  my  League  going. 
Still,  I  shall  he  glad  when  I  can  settle  down  to  it, 
again."  .  .  .  He  was  considering  it  now  with  remi- 
niscent affection.  .  .  .  "If  it  would  amuse  you  to  look 
at  it " 

He  began  a  fussy  search  in  his  bureau. 

"Ah,  here  we  are!" 

He  unearthed  two  piles  of  manuscript,  one  typed, 
the  other  written,  both  scored  with  erasures,  with  al- 
most illegible  corrections  and  insertions. 

"It's  in  a  terrible  mess,"  he  said. 

She  saw  what  her  work  would  be:  to  cut  a  way 
through  the  jungle,  to  make  clearings. 

"If  I  were  to  type  it  all  over  again,  you'd  have  a 
clean  copy  to  work  on  when  you  were  ready." 

"If  you  would  be  so  good.  It's  that  young  rascal 
Ralph.     He'd  no  business  to  leave  it  in  that  state." 

Her  scruple  came  again  to  Barbara. 

"Mr.  Waddington,  you'd  take  him  on  again  for  your 
secretary  if  he'd  come  back?" 

"He'd  come  back  all  right.     Trust  him." 

"And  you'd  take  him  ?" 

"My  dear  young  lady,  why  should  I  ?  I  don't  want 
him;  I  want  you." 

"And  /  don't  want  to  stand  in  his  way." 

"You  needn't  worry  about  that." 


76  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"I  can't  help  worrying  about  it.  You'd  take  him 
back  if  I  wasn't  here." 

"You  are  here." 

"But  if  I  weren't  ?" 

"Come,  come.     You  mustn't  talk  to  me  like  that.'^ 

She  went  away  and  talked  to  Fanny. 

"I  can't  bear  doing  him  out  of  his  job.  If  he'll 
come  back " 

"My  dear,  you  don't  know  Ralph.  He'd  die  rather 
than  come  back.  They've  made  it  impossible  between 
them." 

"Mr.  Waddington  says  he'd  take  him  back  if  I  wasn't 
here." 

"He  wouldn't.  He  only  thinks  he  would,  because 
it  makes  him  feel  magnanimous.  He  offered  Ralph 
half  a  year's  salary  if  he'd  go  at  once.  And  Ralph 
went  at  once  and  wouldn't  touch  the  salary.  That 
made  him  come  out  top  dog,  and  Horatio  didn't  like 
it.  'Not  that  he  supposed  he  could  score  off  Ralph 
with  money.     He  isn't  vulgar." 

No.  He  wasn't  vulgar.  But  she  wondered  how  he 
would  camouflage  it  to  himself — ^that  insult  to  his  pride. 
And  there  was  Ralph's  pride  that  was  so  fiery  and  so 
clean.     Yet 

"Yet  Mr.  Bevan  comes  and  dines,"  she  said. 

"Yes,   he  comes   and   dines.     He'll   always  be  my 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  77 

cousin,  though  he  won't  be  Horatio's  secretary.  He's 
got  a  very  sweet  nature  and  he  keeps  the  issues  clear." 

''But  what  will  he  do?  He  can't  live  on  his  sweet 
nature." 

"Oh,  he's  got  enough  to  live  on,  though  not  enough 
to — to  do  what  he  wants  on.  But  he'll  get  a  job  all 
right.  You  needn't  bother  your  dear  little  head  about 
Ealph." 

Fanny  said  to  herself :  "I'll  tell  him,  then  he'll  adore 
her  more  than  ever.  If  only  he  adores  her  enough 
he'll  buck  up  and  get  something  to  do." 


VI 


Mr.  Waddington  did  not  approve  of  Mrs.  Levitt's 
intimacy  with  her  sister,  Bertha  Rickards. 

He  would  have  approved  of  it  still  less  if  he  had 
heard  the  conversation  which  Mrs.  Trinder  heard  and 
reported  to  Miss  Gregg,  the  governess  at  the  rectory, 
who  told  the  Rector's  wife,  who  told  the  Rector,  who 
told  Colonel  Grainger,  who  told  Ralph  Bevan,  who  kept 
it  to  himself. 

"What  did  you  say  to  the  old  boy,  Elise  ?" 

''Don't  ask  me  what  I  said!" 

"Well — have  you  got  the  cottage  ?" 

"Of  course  I've  got  it,  silly  cuckoo.  I  can  get  any- 
thing out  of  him  I  like.  He  wasn't  going  to  turn  those 
Ballingers  out,  hut  I  made  him." 

"Did  he  say  when  Mrs,  Waddington  was  going  to 
call?" 

Bertha   couldn't   resist  the   temptation   of  pinching 

where  she  knew  the  flesh  was  tender. 

"I  didn't  ask  him." 

78 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  79 

"She  can't  very  well  be  off  it,  now  he's  your  land- 
lord." 

That  was  what  Mrs.  Levitt  thought.  And  if  Mrs. 
Waddington  called,  Lady  Corbctt  couldn't  very  well 
be  off  it  either.  They  were  the  only  ones  in  Wyck 
who  had  not  called ;  but  it  would  be  futile  to  pretend 
that  they  didn't  matter,  that  they  were  not  the  ones 
who  mattered  more  than  anybody. 

The  net  she  had  drawn  round  Mr.  Waddington  was 
tightening,  though  he  was  as  yet  unaware  of  his  en- 
tanglement. First  of  all,  the  Lower  Wyck  cottage  was 
put  into  thorough  repair;  and  if  the  plaster  was  not 
quite  dry  when  the  Ballingers  moved  into  it,  that  was 
not  Mr.  Waddington's  concern.  Lie  had  provided  them 
with  a  house,  which  was  all  that  the  law  could  reason- 
ably require  him  to  do.  Clearly  it  was  Hitciiin,  the 
builder,  who  should  be  held  responsible  for  the  plaster, 
not  he.  As  for  the  rheumatism  Mrs.  Ballinger  got, 
supposing  it  could  be  put  down  to  the  damp  plaster 
and  not  to  some  inherent  defect  in  Mrs.  Ballinger's 
constitution,  clearly  that  was  not  Mr.  Waddington's 
concern  either.  If  anybody  was  responsible  for  Mrs. 
Ballinger's  rheumatism,  it  was  Hitchin. 

Mr.  Waddington  did  not  approve  of  Hitchin. 
Hitchin  was  a  Socialist  who  followed  Colonel  Grainger's 
lead  in  overpaying  his  workmen,  with  disastrous  con- 


80  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

sequences  to  other  people ;  for  over  and  above  the  gen- 
eral upsetting  caused  by  this  gi'atuitous  interference 
with  the  prevailing  economic  system,  Mr.  Hitchin 
was  in  the  habit  of  recouping  himself  by  monstrous 
overcharges.  And  Mr.  Hitchin  was  not  only  the  best 
builder  in  the  neighbourhood,  but  the  only  builder  and 
stonemason  in  Wyck-on-the-Hill,  so  that  he  had  you 
practically  at  his  mercy. 

And  operations  at  the  Sheep  Street  cottage  were  sus- 
pended while  Mr.  Waddinglon  disputed  Mr.  Hitchin's 
estimate  bit  by  bit,  from  the  total  cost  of  building  the 
new  rooms  down  to  the  last  pot  of  enamel  paint  and 
his  charge  per  foot  for  lead  piping.  June  was  slipping 
away  while  they  contended,  and  there  seemed  little 
chance  of  Mrs.  Levitt's  getting  into  her  house  before 
Michaelmas,  if  then. 

So  that  on  the  morning  of  the  nineteenth,  two  days 
before  the  meeting,  Mr.  Waddington  found  another  let- 
ter waiting  for  him  on  the  breakfast-table. 

Fanny  was  looking  at  him,  and  he  sought  protection 
in  an  affectation  of  annoyance. 

"Now  what  can  Mrs.  Levitt  find  to  write  to  me 
about  ?" 

"I  wouldn't  set  any  limits  to  her  invention,"  Fanny 
said. 

"And  what  do  you  know  about  Mrs.  Levitt?" 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  81 

"Nothing.  I  only  gather  from  what  you  say  your- 
self that  she  is — fertile  in  resource." 

"Resource  ?" 

"Well,  in  creating  opportunities." 

"Opportunities,  now,  for  what  ?" 

"For  you  to  exercise  your  Christian  charity,  my 
dear.     When  are  you  going  to  let  me  call  on  her?" 

"I  am  not  going  to  let  you  call  on  her  at  all." 

"Is  that  Christian  charity?" 

"It's  anything  you  please."  He  was  absorbed  in 
his  letter.  Mrs.  Levitt  had  been  obliged  to  move  from 
Mrs.  Trinder's  in  the  Square  to  inferior  rooms  in  Sheep 
Street,  and  she  was  sorry  for  herself. 

"But  surely,  when  you're  always  calling  on  her  your- 
self  " 

"I  am  not  always  calling  on  her.  And  if  I  were, 
there  are  some  things  which  are  perfectly  proper  for 
me  to  do  which  would  not  be  proper  for  you." 

"It  sounds  as  if  Mrs.  Levitt  wasn't." 

He  looked  up  as  sharply  as  his  facial  curves  per- 
mitted. "Nothing  of  the  sort.  She's  simply  not  the 
sort  of  person  you  do  call  on;  and  I  don't  mean  you 
to  begin." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  you're  my  wife  and  you  have  a  certain 
position  in  the  county.     That's  why." 


82  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Rather  a  snobby  reason,  isn't  it  ?     You  said  I  might 
call  on  anybody  I  liked." 

"So  yon  may,  in  reason,  provided  you  don't  begin 
with  Mrs.  Levitt." 

"I  may  have  to  end  with  her/'  said  Fanny. 

Mr.  Waddington  had  many  reasons  for  not  wishing 
Fanny  to  call  on  Mrs.  Levitt.  He  wanted  to  keep  his 
wife,  because  she  was  his  wife,  in  a  place  apart  from 
Mrs.  Levitt  and  above  her,  to  mark  the  distance  and 
distinction  that  there  was  between  them.  He  wanted 
to  keep  himself,  as  Fanny's  husband,  apart  and  distant, 
by  way  of  enhancing  his  male  attraction.  And  he 
wanted  to  keep  Mrs.  Levitt  apart,  to  keep  her  to  him- 
self, as  the  hidden  woman  of  passionate  adventure. 
Hitherto  their  intercourse  had  had  the  chann,,  the 
unique,  irreplaceable  charm  of  things  unacknowledged 
and  clandestine.  Mrs.  Levitt  was  unique;  irreplace- 
able. He  couldn't  think  of  any  other  woman  who 
would  be  a  suitable  substitute.  There  was  little  Bar- 
bara Madden;  she  had  been  afraid  of  him;  but  his 
passions  were  still  too  young  to  be  stirred  by  the  crudity 
of  a  girl's  fright;  if  it  came  to  that,  he  preferred  the 
reassuring  ease  of  Mrs.  Levitt. 

And  he  didn't  mean  it  to  come  to  that. 

But  though  Mr.  Waddington  did  not  actually  look 
forward  to  a  time  when  he  would  be  Mrs.  Levitt's  lover, 


MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  83 

he  had  visions  of  the  pure  fancy  in  which  he  saw  him- 
self standing  on  Mrs.  Levitt's  doorstep  after  dark; 
say,  once  a  fortnight,  on  her  servant's  night  out;  he 
would  sound  a  muffled  signal  on  the  knocker  and  the  door 
would  be  half -opened  by  Elise.  Elise !  He  would  slip 
through  in  a  slender  and  mysterious  manner ;  he  would 
go  on  tip-toe  up  and  down  her  stairs,  recapturing  a 
youthful  thrill  out  of  the  very  risks  they  ran,  yet  man- 
aging the  affair  with  a  consummate  delicacy  and  dis- 
cretion. 

At  this  point  Mr.  Wadding-ton's  fancy  heard  another 
door  open  down  the  street ;  somebody  came  out  and  saw 
him  in  the  light  of  the  passage ;  somebody  went  by  with 
a  lantern;  somebody  timed  his  comings  and  goings. 
He  felt  the  palpitation,  the  cold  nausea  of  detection. 
'No.  You  couldn't  do  these  things  in  a  little  place 
like  Wyck-on-the-IIill,  where  everybody  knew  every- 
body else's  business.     And  there  was  Toby,  too. 

Sometimes,  perhaps,  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  when 
Toby  and  the  servant  would  be  out.  Yes.  Sunday 
afternoon  between  tea-time  and  church-time. 

Or  he  could  meet  her  in  Oxford  or  Cheltenham  or 
in  London.  Wiser.  Week-ends.  More  satisfactory. 
Risk  of  being  seen  there  too,  but  you  must  take  some 
risks.     Surprising  how  these  things  were  kept  secret. 

Birmingham    now.      Birmingham    would    be    safer 


84  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

because  more  unlikely.  He  didn't  know  anybody  in 
Binningbam.  But  tbe  very  tbougbt  of  Mrs.  Levitt 
calling  at  tbe  Manor  on  tbe  same  commonplace  footing, 
say,  as  Mrs.  Grainger,  was  destniction  to  all  tbis 
romantic  secrecy. 

Also  be  was  afraid  tbat  if  Mrs.  Levitt  were  really 
tbat  sort  of  woman,  Fanny's  admirable  instinct  would 
find  ber  out  and  scent  tbe  imminent  affair.  Or  if 
Fanny  remained  unsuspicious  and  sbowed  plainly  ber 
sense  of  security,  Elise  migbt  become  possessive  and 
from  sbeer  jealousy  give  berself  away.  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  said  to  bimself  tbat  be  knew  women,  and  tbat  if  be 
were  a  wise  man,  and  be  was  a  wise  man,  be  would 
arrange  matters  so  tbat  tbe  two  sbould  never  meet. 
Fanny  was  docile,  and  if  be  said  flatly  tbat  sbe  was 
not  to  call  on  Mrs.  Levitt,  sbe  wouldn't. 

2 

Tbere  was  anotber  tbing  tbat  Mr.  Waddington 
dreaded  even  more  tban  tbat  dangerous  encounter: 
Fanny's  knowing  tbat  be  bad  turned  tbe  Ballingers 
out.  As  be  would  bave  been  very  unwilling  to  admit 
tbat  Mrs.  Levitt  bad  forced  bis  band  tbere,  be  took  tbe 
wbole  of  tbe  responsibility  for  tbat  action.  But,  in- 
evitable and  justifiable  as  it  was,  be  couldn't  bope  to 
carry  it  off  triumpbantly  witb  Fanny.     It  was  just, 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  85 

but  it  was  not  magnanimous.  Therefore,  without  mak- 
ing any  positively  untruthful  statement,  he  had  let  her 
think  that  Ballinger  had  given  notice  of  his  own  accord. 
The  chances,  he  thought,  were  all  against  Fanny  ever 
hearing  the  truth  of  the  matter. 

If  only  the  rascal  hadn't  had  a  wife  and  children,  and 
if  only  his  wife — but,  unfortunately  for  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton,  his  wife  was  Susan  Trinder,  Mrs.  Trinder's  hus- 
band's niece,  and  Susan  Trinder  had  been  Horace's 
nurse;  and  though  they  all  considered  that  she  had  done 
for  herself  when  she  married  that  pig-headed  Ballinger, 
Fanny  and  Horace  still  called  her  Susan-Nanna.  And 
Susan-Nanna's  niece,  Annie  Trinder,  was  parlourmaid 
at  the  Manor.  So  Mr.  Waddington  had  a  nasty  qualm 
when  Annie,  clearing  away  breakfast,  asked  if  she 
might  have  a  day  off  to  look  after  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Bal- 
linger, who  was  in  bed  with  the  rheumatics. 

To  his  horror  he  heard  Fanny  saying:  "She  wouldn't 
have  had  the  rheumatics  if  they'd  stayed  in  Sheep 
Street." 

"No,  ma'am." 

Annie's  eyes  were  clear  and  mendacious. 

"He  never  ought  to  have  left  it,"  said  Fanny. 

"No,  ma'am.     No  more  he  oughtn't." 

"Isn't  she  very  sorry  about  it  ?" 

(Why  couldn't  Fanny  leave  it  alone  ?) 


86  MR.  WADDIXGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Yes,  m'm.  She's  frettin'  something  awful.  You 
see,  'tesn't  so  much  the  house,  though  'tea  a  better  one 
than  the  one  they're  in,  'tes  the  garden.  All  that  fruit 
and  vegetable  what  uncle  he  put  in  himself,  and  them 
lavender  bushes.  Aunt,  she's  so  fond  of  a  bit  of  lav- 
ender.    I  dunnow  I'm  sure  how  she'll  get  along." 

Annie  knew.  He  could  tell  by  her  eyes  that  she 
knew.  There  was  nothing  but  Annie's  loyalty  between 
him  and  that  exposure  that  he  dreaded.  He  heard 
Fanny  say  that  she  would  go  and  see  Susan  to-morrow. 
There  would  be  nothing  but  Susan's  loyalty  and  Bal- 
linger's  magnanimity.  It  would  amount  to  that  if  they 
spared  him  for  Fanny's  sake.  He  had  been  absolutely 
right,  and  Ballinger  had  brought  the  whole  trouble 
on  himself ;  but  you  could  never  make  Fanny  see  that. 
And  Ballinger  contrived  to  put  him  still  further  in  the 
wrong.  The  next  day  when  Fanny  called  at  the  cottage 
she  found  it  empty.  Ballinger  had  removed  himself 
and  his  wife  and  family  to  Susan's  father's  farm  at 
Medlicott,  a  good  two  and  a  half  miles  from  his  work  on 
Colonel  Grainger's  land,  thus  providing  himself  with 
a  genuine  grievance. 

And  Fanny  would  keep  on  talking  about  it  at  dinner. 

"Those  poor  Ballingers !  It's  an  awful  pity  he  gave 
up  the  Sheep  Street  cottage.  Didn't  you  tell  him  he 
was  a  fool,  Horatio?" 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  87 

Mercifully  Annie  Trinder  had  left  the  room.  But 
there  was  Partridge  by  the  sideboard,  listening. 

"I'm  not  responsible  for  Ballinger's  folly.  If  he 
finds  himself  inconvenienced  by  it,  that's  no  concern  of 


mine." 


''Well,  Ballinger's  folly  has  been  very  convenient  for 
Mrs.  Levitt." 

Mr.  Waddington  tried  to  look  as  if  Mrs.  Levitt's 
convenience  were  no  concern  of  his  either. 


vn 


The  handbills  and  posters  had  been  out  for  the  last 
week.  Their  headlines  were  very  delightful  to  the 
eye  with  their  enormous  capitals  staring  at  you  in 
Pyecraft's  royal  blue  print. 

NATIONAL  LEAGUE  OF  LIBERTY. 


A  MEETING 
In  Aid  of  the  Above  League 

WILL   be   held  in   the 

TOWN  HALL,  WYCK-ON-THE-HILL, 

Saturday,  June  21st,  S  p.m. 


Chairman:  SIR  JOHN  CORBETT, 

OF 

Undeewoods,  Wyck-on-the-Hill. 

Spealcer: 

HORATIO  BYSSHE  WADDINGTON,  ESQ., 

OF   THE 

Manor  House,  Lower  Wyck. 


YOU  ARE  EARNESTLY  REQUESTED  TO 

ATTEND. 


GOD  SAVE  THE  KING! 

88 


ME.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  89 

Only  one  thing  threatened  Mr.  Waddingt^n's  intense 
enjoyment  of  his  meeting:  his  son  Horace  would  be 
there.  Young  Horace  had  insisted  on  coming  over 
from  Cheltenham  College  for  the  night,  expressly  to 
attend  the  meeting.  And  though  Mr.  Waddington  had 
pointed  out  that  the  meeting  could  very  well  take  place 
without  him,  Fanny  appeared  to  he  hacking  young 
Horace  up  in  his  impudent  opinion  that  it  couldn't. 
This  he  found  excessively  annoying;  for,  though  for 
worlds  he  wouldn't  have  owned  it,  Mr.  Waddington  was 
afraid  of  his  son.  He  was  never  the  same  man  when  he 
was  about.  The  presence  of  young  Horace — tall  for 
sixteen  and  developing  rapidly — was  fatal  to  the  illu- 
sion of  his  youth.  And  Horace  had  a  way  of  com- 
menting disadvantageously  on  everything  his  father  said 
or  did ;  he  had  a  perfect  genius  for  humorous  deprecia- 
tion. At  any  rate,  he  and  his  mother  behaved  as  if 
they  thought  it  was  humorous,  and  many  of  his  remarks 
seemed  to  strike  other  people — Sir  John  and  Lady 
Corbett,  for  example,  and  Ralph  Bevan — in  the  same 
light.  Over  and  over  again  young  Horace  would  keep 
the  whole  table  listening  to  him  with  unreasoning  and 
unreasonable  delight,  while  his  father's  efforts  to  con- 
verse received  only  a  polite  and  perfunctoi*y  attention. 
And  the  prospect  of  having  young  Horace's  humour  let 
loose  on  his  meeting  and  on  his  speech  at  the  meeting 


90  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

was  distinctly  disagreeable.  Fanny  oughtn't  to  have 
allowed  it  to  happen.  He  oughtn't  to  have  allowed 
it  himself.  But  short  of  writing  to  his  Head  Master 
to  forhid  it,  they  couldn't  stop  young  Horace  coming. 
He  had  only  to  get  on  his  motor-bicycle  and  come. 

Barbara  came  on  him  in  the  drawinjy-room  before 
dinner,  sitting  in  an  easy  chair  and  giggling  over  the 
prospectus. 

He  jumped  up  and  stood  by  the  hearth,  smiling  at 
her. 

"I  say,  did  my  guv'nor  really  write  this  himself  ?" 

''More  or  less.  Did  you  really  come  over  for  the 
meeting  ?" 

"Rather." 

His  smile  was  wilful  and  engaging. 

"You  are  enthusiastic  about  the  League." 

"Enthusiastic  ?  We-ell,  I  can't  say  I  know  much 
about  it.  Of  course,  I  know  the  sort  of  putrid  tosh  he'll 
sling  at  them,  but  Avhat  I  want  is  to  see  him  doing  it." 

He  had  got  it  too,  that  passion  of  interest  and  amuse- 
ment, hers  and  Ralph's.  Only  it  wasn't  decent  of  him 
to  show  it;  she  mustn't  let  him  see  she  had  it.  She 
answered  soberly: 

"Yes,  he's  awfully  keen." 

"Is  he  ?  I've  never  seen  him  really  excited,  worked 
up,  except  once  or  twice  during  the  war." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  91 

As  he  stood  there,  lookint^  down,  smiling  pensively, 
he  seemed  to  brood  over  it,  to  anticipate  the  joy  of  the 
spectacle. 

He  had  an  impudent,  happy  face,  turned  and  col- 
oured like  his  mother's ;  he  had  Fanny's  blue  eyes  and 
brovrn  hair.  All  that  the  Waddingtons  and  Postle- 
thwaites  had  done  to  him  was  to  raise  the  bridge  of 
his  nose,  and  to  thicken  his  lips  slightly  without  alter- 
ino-  their  wide,  vivacious  twirl.    He  considered  Barbara. 

"You're  going  to  help  him  to  write  his  book,  aren't 
you  ?" 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Barbara. 

"You've  got  a  nerve.  He  pretty  well  did  for  Ralph 
Bevan.  He's  worse  than  shell-shock  when  he  once 
gets  going." 

"I  expect  I  can  stand  him.  He  can't  be  worse  than 
the  War  Office." 

"Oh,  isn't  he?    You  wait." 

At  that  moment  his  father  came  in,  late,  and  betray- 
ing the  first  symptoms  of  excitement.  Barbara  saw 
that  the  boy's  eyes  took  them  in.  As  they  sat  down  to 
dinner  Mr.  Waddington  pretended  to  ignore  Horace. 
But  Horace  wouldn't  be  ignored.  He  drew  attention 
instantly  to  himself. 

"Don't  you  think  it's  jolly  decent  of  me,  pater,  to 
come  over  for  your  meeting?" 


93  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

'^I  shouldn't  have  thought,"  said  Mr.  Waddington, 
"that  politics  were  much  in  your  line.  ISTot  worth 
spoiling  a  half-holiday  for." 

"I  don't  suppose  I  shall  care  two  fags  about  your  old 
League.  What  I've  come  for  is  to  see  you,  pater,  get- 
ting up  on  your  hind  legs  and  giving  it  them.  I 
wouldn't  miss  that  for  a  million  half-holidays." 

"If  that's  all  you've  come  for  you  might  have  saved 
yourself  the  trouble." 

"Trouble?  My  dear  father,  I'd  have  taken  any 
trouble." 

You  could  see  he  was  laughing  at  him.  And  he  was 
talking  at  Barbara,  attracting  her  attention  the  whole 
time;  with  every  phrase  he  shot  a  look  at  her  across 
the  table.  Evidently  he  was  afraid  she  might  think 
he  didn't  know  how  funny  his  father  was,  and  he  had 
to  show  her.  It  wasn't  decent  of  him.  Barbara  didn't 
approve  of  young  Horace ;  yet  she  couldn't  resist  him ; 
his  eyes  and  mouth  were  full,  like  Ralph's,  of  such  in- 
telligent yet  irresponsible  joy.  He  wanted  her  to  share 
it.  He  was  an  egoist  like  his  father;  but  he  had 
something  of  his  mother's  charm,  something  of  Ralph 
Sevan's. 

"I^othing,"  he  was  saying,  "nothing  would  have  kept 
me  away." 


(C-^ 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  93 

'You're  very  good,  sir."  Horace  could  appreciate 
that  biting  sarcasm. 

"Not  at  all.  I  say,  I  wish  you'd  let  me  come  on 
the  platform." 

"What  for  ?  You  don't  propose  yourself  as  a  speaker, 
do  you  ?" 

"Rather  not.  I  simply  want  to  be  somewhere  where 
I  can  see  your  face  and  old  Grainger's  at  the  same  time, 
and  Hitchin's,  when  you're  going  for  their  Socialism." 

"You  shall  certainly  not  come  on  the  platform. 
And  wherever  you  sit  I  must  request  you  to  behave  your- 
self— if  you  can.  You  may  not  realize  it,  but  this  is 
going  to  be  a  serious  meeting." 

"I  know  that.  It's  just  the — the  seriousness  that 
gets  me."    He  giggled. 

Mr.  Waddington  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Of 
course,  if  you've  no  sense  of  responsibility — if  you 
choose  to  go  on  like  an  ill-bred  schoolboy — but  don't 
be  surprised  if  you're  reprimanded  from  the  chair." 

"What?  Old  Corbett?  I  should  like  to  see  him. 
.  .  .  Don't  you  worry,  pater,  I'll  behave  a  jolly 
sight  better  than  anybody  else  will.  You  see  if  I 
don't." 

"How  did  you  suppose  he'd  behave,  Horatio?"  said 
Fanny.  "When  he's  come  all  that  way  and  given  up 
a  picnic  to  hear  you." 


94  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Pater'll  be  a  picnic,  if  you  like,"  said  Iloraca 

Mr.  Waddington  waved  him  away  with  a  gesture  as 
if  he  flicked  a  teasing  fly,  and  went  out  to  collect  his 
papers. 

Fanny  turned  to  her  son.  "Horry  dear,  you  mustn't 
rag  your  father  like  that.  You  mustn't  laugh  at  him. 
He  doesn't  like  it." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  Horry  said.  ''He's  so  furiously 
funny.     He  makes  me  giggle." 

"Well,  whatever  you  do,  don't  giggle  at  the  meeting, 
or  you'll  give  him  away." 

"I  won't,  mater.  Honour  bright,  I  won't.  I'll  hold 
myself  in  like — like  anything.  Only  you  mustn't  mind 
if  I  burst." 


Mr.  Waddington  had  spoken  for  half  an  hour,  ex- 
pounding, with  some  necessary  repetitions,  the  princi- 
ples and  objects  of  the  League. 

He  was  supported  on  the  platform  by  his  Chairman, 
Sir  John  Corbett,  and  by  the  other  members  of  his 
projected  Committee:  by  Lady  Corbett,  by  Fanny,  by 
the  Rector,  by  Mr.  Thurston  of  the  Elms,  Wyck-on-the- 
Hill;  by  Mr.  Bostock  of  Parson's  Bank;  Mr.  Jackson, 
of  Messrs.  Jackson,  Cleaver  and  Co.,  solicitors;  Major 
Markham  of  Wyck  Wold,  Mr.  Temple  of  ISTorton-in- 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  95 

Mark,  and  Mr.  Hawtrey  of  Medlicott;  and  by  his  sec- 
retary, Miss  Barbara  Madden.  The  body  of  the  hall 
was  packed.  Beneath  him,  in  the  front  row,  he  had  the 
wives  and  daughters  of  his  committeemen;  in  its  centre, 
right  under  his  nose,  he  was  painfully  aware  of  the 
presence  of  young  Horace  and  Ralph  Bevan.  Colonel 
Grainger  sat  behind  them,  conspicuous  and,  Mr.  Wad- 
dington  fancied,  a  little  truculent,  with  his  great  square 
face  and  square-clipped  red  moustache,  and  on  each  side 
of  Colonel  Grainger  and  behind  him  were  the  neigh- 
bouring gentry  and  the  townspeople  of  Wyck,  the  two 
grocers,  the  two  butchers,  the  drapers  and  hotel  keeper, 
and  behind  them  again  the  servants  of  the  Manor  and 
a  crowd  of  shop  assistants;  and  further  and  further 
back,  farm  labourers  and  artisans;  among  these  he 
recognized  Ballinger  with  scA'eral  of  Colonel  Grainger's 
and  Ilitchin's  men.  A  pretty  compact  group  they  made, 
and  Mr.  Waddington  was  gratified  by  their  appearance 
there. 

And  well  in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  above  the  women's 
hats,  he  could  see  Mr.  Hitchin's  bush  of  hair,  his 
shrewd,  round,  clean-shaven  and  rosy  face,  his  grey 
check  shoulders  and  red  tie.  Mr.  Hitchin  had  the  air 
of  being  supported  by  the  entire  body  of  his  work- 
men.    Mr.  Waddington  was  gTatified  by  Mr.  Hitchin's 


96  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

appearance,  too,  and  he  thouglit  lie  would  insert  some 
expression  of  that  feeling  in  his  peroration. 

He  was  also  profoimdly  aware  of  Mrs.  Levitt  sitting 
all  by  herself  in  an  empty  space  about  the  middle  of 
the  third  row. 

From  time  to  time  Ralph  Bevan  and  young  Horace 
fixed  on  Fanny  Waddington  and  Barbara  delighted  eyes 
in  faces  of  a  supernatural  gravity.  Young  Horace  was 
looking  odd  and  unlike  himself,  with  his  jaws  clamped 
together  in  his  prodigious  effort  not  to  giggle.  When- 
ever Barbara's  eyes  met  his  and  Ralph's,  a  faint  smile 
quivered  on  her  face  and  flickered  and  went  out. 

Once  Horace  whispered  to  Ralph  Bevan:  "Isn't  he 
going  it?"  And  Ralph  whispered  back:  "He's  im- 
mense." 

He  was.  He  felt  immense.  He  felt  that  he  was 
carrying  his  audience  with  him.  The  sound  of  his  own 
voice  excited  him  and  whipped  him  on.  It  was  a  sort 
of  intoxication.  He  was  soaring  now,  up  and  up,  into 
his  peroration. 

"It  is  a  gratification  to  me  to  see  so  many  working 
men  and  women  here  to-night.  They  are  specially  wel- 
come. We  want  to  have  them  with  us.  Do  not  distrust 
the  working  man.  The  working  man  is  sound  at  heart. 
Sound  at  head  too,  when  he  is  let  alone  and  not  carried 
away  by  the  treacherous  arguments  of  ignorant  agi- 


MR.  WADDIXGTOX  OF  WYCK  97 

tators.  We — myself  and  the  founders  of  this  League 
• — have  not  that  bad  opinion  of  the  working  man  which 
his  leaders — his  misleaders,  I  may  call  them — appear  to 
have.  We  believe  in  him,  we  know  that,  if  he  were 
only  let  alone,  there  is  no  section  of  the  community  that 
would  stand  more  solid  for  order  and  good  government 
than  he." 

"Hear!  Hear!"  from  Colonel  Grainger.  Ralph 
whispered,  "Camouflage!"  to  Horace,  who  nodded. 

"There  is  nothing  in  the  aims  of  this  League  con- 
trary to  the  interests  of  Labour.  On  the  contrary" — 
he  heard,  as  if  somebody  else  had  perpetrated  it,  the 

horrible  repetition — "I  mean  to  say "     His  brain 

fought  for  another  phrase  madly  and  in  vain.  "On  the 
contrary,  it  exists  in  order  to  safeguard  the  true  inter- 
ests, the  best  interests,  of  every  working  man  and  woman 
in  the  country." 

"Hear!  Hear!"  from  Sir  John  Corbett  Mr.  Wad- 
dington  smiled. 

"President  Wilson" — he  became  agitated  and  drank 
water — "President  Wilson  talked  about  making  the 
world  safe  for  democracy.  Well,  if  we,  you  and  I, 
all  of  us,  don't  take  care,  the  world  won't  be  safe  for 
anything  else.  It  certainly  won't  be  safe  for  the  mid- 
dle classes,  for  the  gi-eat  business  and  professional 
classes,    for   the   class   to   which   I,    for  one,   belong: 


98  MR.  WADDINGTON^  OF  WYCK 

the  class  of  English,  gentlemen.  It  won't  be  safe 
for  us. 

"Not  that  I  propose  to  make  a  class  question  of  it. 
To  make  a  class  question  of  it  would  be  more  than  wrong. 
It  would  be  foolish.  It  would  be  a  challenge  to  revo- 
lution, the  first  step  towards  letting  loose,  unchain- 
ing: ao:ainst  us,  those  forces  of  disorder  and  destruc- 

GO  / 

tion  which  we  are  seeking  to  keep  down.  I  am  not  here 
to  insist  on  class  differences,  to  foment  class  hatred. 
Those  differences  exist,  they  always  will  exist ;  but  they 
are  immaterial  to  our  big  purpose.  This  is  a  question 
of  principle,  the  great  principle  of  British  liberty. 
Are  we  going  to  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  one  class 
over  all  other  classes,  of  one  interest  over  all  other  in- 
terests in  the  country  ?  Are  we  going  to  knock  under, 
I  say,  to  a  minority,  whether  it  is  a  Labour  minority 
or  any  other? 

"Are — we — going — to  tolerate  Bolshevism  and  a 
Soviet  Government  here?  If  there  are  any  persons 
present  who  think  that  that  is  our  attitude  and  our 
int-ention,  I  tell  them  now  plainly — it  is  not.  In  their 
own  language,  in  our  good  old  county  proverb:  'As 
sure  as  God's  in  Gloucester,'  it  is  not  and  never  will 
be.  The  sooner  they  understand  that  the  better.  I 
do  not  say  that  there  are  any  persons  present  who  would 
be  guilty  of  so  gross  an  error.     I  do  not  believe  there 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  99 

are.  I  do  not  believe  that  there  is  any  intelligent  per- 
son in  this  room  who  will  not  agree  with  me  when  I  say 
that,  though  it  is  just  and  right  that  Labour  should 
have  a  voice  in  the  government,  it  is  not  just  and  it  is 
not  right  that  it  should  be  the  only  voice. 

''It  has  been  the  only  voice  heard  in  Russia  for  two 
years,  and  what  is  the  consequence?  Bloodshed. 
Anarchy  and  bloodshed.  I  don't  say  that  we  should 
have  anarchy  and  bloodshed  here ;  England,  thank  God, 
is  not  Russia.  But  I  do  not  say  that  we  shall  Twt 
have  them.  And  I  do  say  that  it  rests  with  us,  with 
you  and  me,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  to  decide  whether 
we  shall  or  shall  not  have  them.  It  depends  on  the 
action  we  take  to-night  with  regard  to  this  National 
League  of  Liberty,  on  the  action  taken  on — on  other 
nights  at  similar  meetings,  all  over  this  England  of 
ours;  it  depends,  in  two  words,  on  our  united  action, 
whether  we  shall  have  anarchy  or  stable  government, 
whether  this  England  of  ours  shall  or  shall  not  continue 
to  be  a  free  country. 

"Remember  two  things :  the  League  is  National,  and 
it  is  a  League  of  Liberty.  It  would  not  be  one  if  it 
were  not  the  other. 

"You  will  say,  perhaps  many  of  you  are  saying: 
'This  League  is  all  very  well,  but  what  can  /  do  ?'     Per- 


100  ME.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK 

haps  you  will  even  say:  'What  can  Wyck  do?  After 
all,  Wyck  is  a  small  place.  It  isn't  the  capital  of  the 
county." 

'•'Well,  I  can  tell  you  what  Wyck  can  do.  It  can 
be — it  is  the  first  town  in  Gloucestershire,  the  first 
provincial  town  in  England  to  start  a  National  League 
of  Liberty.  They've  got  a  League  in  London,  the  par- 
ent League;  they  may  have  another  branch  League 
anywhere  any  day,  but  I  hope  that — ^thanks  to  the  very 
noble  efforts  of  those  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  have 
kindly  consented  to  serve  on  my  Committee — I  hope 
that  before  long  we  shall  have  started  Leagues  in 
Gloucester,  Cheltenham,  Cirencester,  ISTailsworth  and 
Stroud ;  in  every  town,  village  and  hamlet  in  the  county. 
I  hope,  thanks  to  your  decision  to-night,  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen, to  be  able  to  say  that  Wyck — little  Wyck — 
has  got  in  first.  All  round  us,  for  fifteen — twenty 
miles  round,  there  are  hamlets,  villages  and  towns  that 
haven't  got  a  League,  that  know  nothing  about  the 
League.  Wyck-on-the-Hill  will  be  the  centre  of  the 
League  for  this  part  of  the  Cotswolds. 

"It  is  impossible  to  exaggerate  the  importance  of 
the  principle  at  stake.  Impossible,  therefore,  to  exag- 
gerate the  importance  of  this  League,  therefore  impos- 
sible to  exaggerate  the  importance  of  this  meeting,  of 
every  man  and  woman  who  has  come  here  to-night. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  101 

j^nd  when  you  rise  from  your  seats  and  step  up  to 
this  platform  to  enrol  your  names  as  members  of  the 
National  League  of  Liberty,  I  want  you  to  feel,  every 
one  of  you,  that  you  will  be  doing  an  important  thing, 
a  thing  necessary  to  the  nation,  a  thing  in  its  way  every 
bit  as  necessary  and  important  as  the  thing  the  soldier 
does  when  he  rises  up  out  of  his  trench  and  goes  over 
the  top." 

It  was  then,  and  then  only,  that  young  Horace  gig- 
gled. But  he  covered  his  collapse  with  a  shout  of 
"Hear!  Hear!"  that  caused  Fanny  and  Barbara  to 
blow  their  noses  simultaneously.  As  for  Ealph,  he 
hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

''Like  him,"  said  Mr.  Waddington,  "you  will  be  help- 
ing to  save  England.  And  what  can  any  of  us  do  more  ?" 

He  sat  down  suddenly  in  a  perfect  uproar  of  ap- 
plause, and  drank  water.  In  spite  of  the  applause  he 
was  haunted  by  a  sense  of  incompleteness.  There 
was  something  he  had  left  out  of  his  speech,  something 
he  had  particularly  wanted  to  say.  It  seemed  to  him 
more  vital,  more  important,  than  anything  he  had  said. 

A  solitary  pair  of  hands,  Mrs.  Levitt's  hands,  con- 
spicuously lifted,  were  still  clapping  when  Mr.  Hitchin's 
face  rose  like  a  red  moon  behind  and  a  little  to  the  left 
of  her;  followed  by  the  grey  check  shoulders  and  red 
tie.     He  threw  back  his  head,  stuck  a  thumb  in  each 


102  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

annhole  of  his  waistcoat,  and  spoke.  "Ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen. The  speaker  has  quoted  President  Wilson 
about  the  world  being  made  safe  for  democracy.  He 
seems  to  be  concerned  about  the  future,  to  be,  if  I  may 
say  so,  in  a  bit  of  a  funk  about  the  future.  But  has 
he  paid  any  attention  to  the  past?  Has  he  con- 
sidered the  position  of  the  working  man  in  the  past? 
Has  he  even  considered  the  condition  of  many  working 
men  at  the  present  time,  for  instance,  of  the  farm  la- 
bourer now  in  this  country  ?  If  he  had,  if  he  knew  the 
facts,  if  he  cared  about  the  facts,  he  might  admit  that, 
whether  he's  going  to  like  it  or  not,  it's  the  working 
man's  turn.     Just  about  his  turn. 

"I  needn't  ask  Mr.  Waddington  if  he  knows  the 
parable  of  Dives  and  Lazarus.  But  I  should  like  to 
say  to  him  what  Abraham  said  to  the  rich  man :  'Re- 
member that  thou  in  thy  life-time  receivedst  thy  good 
things,  and  likewise  Lazarus  evil  things:  but  now  he  is 
comforted  and  thou  art  tormented.' 

"I  don't  want  Mr.  Waddingion  to  be  tormented.  To 
be  tormented  too  much.  Not  more  than  is  reasonable. 
A  little  torment — say,  his  finger  scorched  for  the  frac- 
tion of  a  second  in  that  hot,  unpleasant  place — would 
be  good  for  him  if  it  made  him  think.  I  say  I  don't 
want  to  torment  him,  but  I'll  just  ask  him  one  question : 
Does  he  think  that  a  vv^orld  where  it's  possible  for  a 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  103 

working  man,  just  because  he  is  a  working  man  and  not 
an  English  gentleman,  a  world  where  it's  still  possible 
for  him,  and  his  wife  and  his  children,  to  be  turned  out 
of  house  and  home  to  suit  the  whim  of  an  English 
gentleman;  does  he  think  that  a  world  where  things 
like  that  can  happen  is  a  safe  place  for  anybody? 

''I  can  tell  him  it  isn't  safe.  It  isn't  safe  for  you 
and  me.  And  if  it  isn't  safe  for  you  and  me,  it  isn't 
safe  for  the  people  who  make  these  things  happen; 
and  it  isn't  any  safer  for  the  people  who  stand  by  and  let 
them  happen. 

"And  if  the  Socialist — if  the  Bolshevist  is  the  man 
who's  going  to  see  to  it  that  they  don't  happen,  if  a 
Soviet  Government  is  the  only  Government  that'll  see 
to  that,  then  the  Socialist,  or  the  Bolshevist,  is  the 
man  for  my  money,  and  a  Soviet  Government  is  the 
Government  for  my  vote.  I  don't  say,  mind  you,  that 
it  is  the  only  Government — I  say,  if  it  were. 

"Mr.  Waddington  doesn't  like  Bolshevism.  None  of 
us  like  it.  He  doesn't  like  Socialism.  I  think  he's  got 
some  wrong  ideas  about  that.  But  he's  dead  right  when 
he  tells  you,  if  you're  afraid  of  Bolshevism  and  a  Soviet 
Government,  that  the  remedy  lies  in  your  ovni  hands. 
If  there  ever  is  a  day  of  reckoning,  what  Mr.  Wad- 
dington would  call  a  revolution  in  this  country,  you. 


104  MR.  WADDIXGTON  OF  WYCK 

we,  ay,  everyone  of  us  sitting  here,  will  be  done  with 
according  as  we  do." 

He  sat  down,  and  Mr.  Waddington  rose  again  on  his 
platform,  solemn  and  a  little  pale.  He  looked  round 
the  hall,  to  show  that  there  was  no  person  there  whom 
lie  was  afraid  to  face.  It  might  have  been  the  look  of 
some  bold  and  successful  statesman  turning  on  a  tur- 
bulent House,  confident  in  his  power  to  hold  it. 

"Unless  I  have  misheard  him,  what  Mr.  Hitchin 
has  just  said,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  sounded  very  like 
a  threat.  If  that  is  so,  we  may  congratulate  Mr. 
Hitchin  on  providing  an  unanswerable  proof  of  the  need 
for  a  National  League  of  Liberty." 

There  were  cries  of  "Hear!  Hear!"  from  Sir  John 
Corbett  and  from  Mr.  Hawtrey  of  Medlicott. 

Then  a  horrible  thing  happened.  Slight  and  rustling 
at  first,  then  gathering  volume,  there  came  a  hissing 
from  the  back  rows  packed  with  Colonel  Grainger's  and 
Mr.  Hitchin's  men.  Then  a  booing.  Then  a  booing 
and  hissing  together. 

Sir  John  scrabbled  on  to  his  little  legs  and  cried: 
"Ordah,  there  I  Ordah!"  Mr,  Waddington  main- 
tained an  indomitably  supercilious  air  while  Sir  John 
brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table  (probably  the  most 
energetic  thing  he  had  ever  done  in  his  life),  with  a 
loud  shout  of  "Ordah!"     Colonel  Grainger  and  Mr. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  105 

Ilitchin  were  seen  to  turn  round  in  their  places  and 
make  a  sign  to  their  men,  and  the  demonstration 
ceased. 

Mr.  Waddington  then  rose  as  if  nothing  at  all  had 
happened  and  said,  "Any  ladies  and  gentlemen  wishing 
to  join  the  League  will  please  come  up  to  the  platform 
and  give  their  names  to  Miss  Madden.  Any  persons 
wishing  to  subscribe  at  once,  may  pay  their  subscrip- 
tions to  Miss  Madden. 

"I  will  now  call  your  attention  to  the  last  item  on 
the  programme,  and  ask  you  all  to  join  with  me  very 
heartily  in  singing  'God  Save  the  King.'  " 

Everybody,  except  Colonel  Grainger  and  Mr.  Hitchin, 
rose,  and  everybody,  except  the  extremists  of  the  oppo- 
sition, sang.  One  voice — it  was  Mrs.  Levitt's  voice — 
was  lifted  arrogantly  high  and  clear  above  the  rest. 

"Send — him — vic-torious, 
Hap-py — and — glorious. 
Long — ^to-oo  rei-eign  overious 
Gaw-aw-awd — Save — ther  King." 

Mr.  Wadding-ton  waited  beside  Barbara  Madden  at 
the  table ;  he  waited  in  a  superb  confidence.  After  all, 
the  demonstration  engineered  by  Colonel  Grainger  had 
had  no  effect.  The  front  and  middle  rows  had  risen 
to  their  feet  and  a  very  considerable  procession  was 
beginning  to  file  towards  the  platform. 


106  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

Mr.  Waddington  was  so  intent  on  this  procession, 
Barbara  was  so  busy  taking  down  names  and  entering 
subscriptions  and  making  out  receipts.  Sir  John  and 
Lady  Corbett  and  the  rest  of  the  proposed  Committee 
were  talking  to  each  other  so  loud  and  fast,  Ralph  and 
Horace  were  so  absorbed  in  looking  at  Barbara  that 
none  of  them  saw  what  was  happening  in  the  body  of 
the  hall.  Only  Fanny  caught  the  signals  that  passed 
between  Colonel  Grainger  and  Mr.  Hitchin,  and  be- 
tween Mr.  Hitehin  and  his  men. 

Then  Colonel  Grainger  stood  up  and  shouted,  "I 
protest!" 

Mr.  Hitchin  stood  up  and  shouted,  "I  protest!" 

They  shouted  together,  "We  protest!" 

Sir  John  Corbett  rushed  back  to  his  chair  and  shouted 
"Ordah!"  and  the  back  rows,  the  ranks  of  Hitchin's 
men,  stood  up  and  shouted,  "We  won't  sign!"  "We 
won't  sign!"     "We  won't  sign!" 

And  then  young  Horace  did  an  unsuspected  thing, 
a  thing  that  surprised  himself.  He  leaped  on  to  the 
front  bench  and  faced  the  insurgent  back  rows.  His 
face  was  red  with  excitement,  and  with  the  shame  and 
anger  and  resentment  inspired  by  his  father's  eloquence. 
But  he  was  shouting  in  his  hoarse,  breaking,  adolescent 
voice: 

"Look  here,  you  blackguards  there  at  the  back.     If 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  107 

you  don't  stop  that  row  this  minute,  I'll  jolly  well 
chuck  you  all  out." 

Only  one  voice,  the  voice  of  Mr.  Hitchin's  biggest 
and  brawniest  quarryman,  replied:  ''Come  on,  sir!" 

Young  Horace  vaulted  lightly  over  the  bench,  fol- 
lowed by  Ralph,  and  the  two  were  steeplechasing  down 
the  hall  when  Mr.  Hitchin  made  another  of  his  mys- 
terious signals  and  the  men  filed  out,  obediently,  one 
by  one. 

Ralph  and  Horace  found  themselves  in  the  middle  of 
the  empty  benches  laughing  into  each  other's  faces. 
Colonel  Grainger  and  Mr.  Hitchin  stood  beside  them, 
smiling  with  intolerable  benevolence. 

Mr.  Hitchin  was  saying:  "The  men  are  all  right, 
Mr.  Bevan.  They  don't  mean  any  harm.  They  just 
got  a  bit  out  of  hand." 

Horace  saw  that  they  were  being  magnanimous,  and 
the  thought  maddened  him.  "I  don't  blame  the  men," 
he  said,  ''and  I  don't  blame  you,  Hitchin.  You  don't 
know  any  better.  But  Colonel  Grainger  ought  to  be 
damned  well  ashamed  of  himself,  and  I  hope  he  is." 

Colonel  Grainger  laughed.  So  did  Mr.  Hitchin, 
throwing  himself  back  and  swaying  from  side  to  side 
as  his  mirth  shook  him. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Hitchin " 

"That'll  do,  Horry,"  said  Ralph.     He  led  him  geaUy 


108  ME.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

down  a  side  aisle  and  tliroiigli  a  swing  door  into  the 
concealed  corridor  beside  the  platform.  There  they 
waited. 

"Don't  imagine  for  one  moment,"  said  young  Horr)', 
"that  I  agree  with  all  that  tosh  he  talked.  But,  after 
all,  he's  got  a  perfect  right  to  make  a  fool  of  himself 
if  he  chooses.     And  he's  my  father." 

"I  know.  From  first  to  last,  Horr^',  you  behaved 
beautifully." 

"Well,  what  would  you  do  if  your  father  made  an 
unholy  ass  of  himself  in  public  ?" 

"My  father  doesn't." 

"No,  but  if  he  did?" 

"I'd  do  what  you  did.  Sit  tight  and  try  and  look  as 
if  he  didn't." 

"Then,"  said  Horace,  "you  look  as  big  a  fool  your- 
self." 

"Not  quite.  You  don't  say  anything.  Besides,  your 
father  isn't  as  big  a  fool  as  those  London  Leaguers  who 
started  the  silly  show.  Sir  Maurice  Gedge  and  all  that 
crowd.     He  didn't  invent  the  beastly  thing." 

"No,"  said  Horace  mournfully,  "he  hasn't  even  the 
merit  of  originality." 

He  meditated,  still  mournful. 

"Look  here,  Kalph,  what  did  that  blackguard  Hitchin 
mean  ?" 


MB.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  109 

"He  isn't  a  blackguard.  He's  a  ripping  good  sort. 
I  can  tell  you,  if  every  employer  in  this  confounded 
commercial  country  was  as  honest  as  old  Hitchin,  there 
wouldn't  be  any  labour  question  worth  talking  about." 

"Damn  his  honesty.  What  did  he  mean?  Was  it 
true  what  he  said  ?" 

"Was  what  true  ?" 

"Why,  that  my  father  turned  the  Ballingers  out?" 

"Yes;  I'm  afraid  it  was." 

"I  say,  how  disg-usting  of  him.  You  know  I  always 
thought  he  was  a  bit  of  a  fool,  my  father;  but  I  didn't 
know  he  was  that  beastly  kind  of  fool." 

"He  isn't,"  said  Ralph.     "He's  just— a  fool." 

"I  know.  Did  you  ever  hear  such  putrid  rot  as 
he  talked?" 

"I  don't  know.  For  the  kind  of  silly  thing  it  was, 
his  speech  wasn't  half  bad." 

"What?  About  going  over  the  top?  Oh,  Lord! 
And  after  turning  the  Ballingers  out,  too." 

Ralph  was  silent. 

"What's  happened  to  him  ?  He  didn't  use  to  be  like 
that.     He  must  be  mad,  or  something." 

Ralph  thought  of  Mrs.  Levitt. 

"He's  getting  old  and  he  doesn't  like  it.  That's 
what's  the  matter  with  him." 


110  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"But  Lang  it  all,  Kalph,  that's  no  excuse.  It  really 
isn't." 

"I  believe  Ballinger  gave  bim  some  provocation." 

"I  don't  care  what  he  gave  himu  He'd  no  earthly 
business  to  take  advantage  of  it.  N^ot  with  that  sort  of 
person.  Besides,  it  wouldn't  matter  about  Ballinger 
so  much,  but  there's  old  Susan  and  the  kiddies.  .  .  . 
He  doesn't  see  how  perfectly  sickening  it  is  for  me." 

"It  isn't  very  nice  for  your  mother." 

"No;  it's  jolly  hard  on  the  poor  mater.  .  .  .  Well, 
I  can't  stick  it  much  longer.  I'm  just  about  fed  up 
with  Horatio  Bysshe.  I  shall  clear  out  first  thing  in 
the  morning  before  he's  down.  I  don't  care  if  I  never 
see  him  or  speak  to  him  again." 

"I  say,  I  say,  how  about  the  midsummer  holidays  ?" 

"Oh,  damn  the  midsummer  holidays!" 

"Isn't  it  rather  rotten  to  take  a  line  you  can't  pos- 
sibly keep  up  ?" 

"That's  all  right.  Whatever  I  may  do  in  the  future," 
said  young  Horace  magnificently,  "I've  got  to  give  him 
his  punishment  now." 

Ralph  laughed.  Young  Horace  was  as  big  an  egoist 
as  his  father,  but  with  these  differences:  his  blood  was 
hot  instead  of  cold,  he  had  his  mother's  humour,  and 
he  was  not  a  fool.     Kalph  wondered  how  he  would  have 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  111 

felt  if  he  had  realized  Mrs.  Levitt's  part  in  the  Bal- 

linger  affair. 

3 

Mi*.  Waddington  remained  standing  on  his  platform. 
They  were,  coming  round  him  now,  grasping  him  by 
the  hand,  congratulating  him:  Sir  John  Corbett,  the 
Rector,  Major  Markham  of  Wyck  Wold  and  Mr.  Haw- 
trey  of  Medlicott. 

"Capital  speech,  Waddington,  capital." 

"Best  speech  made  in  the  Town  Hall  since  they 
built  it." 

"Splendid.     You  landed  them  one  every  time." 

"No  wonder  you  drew  them  down  on  to  you." 

"That  was  a  disgraceful  business,"  said  Sir  John. 
"Disgraceful." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort  ever  happened  in  Wyck  be- 
fore," said  the  Rector. 

"Nobody  ever  made  a  speech  like  Waddington's  be- 
fore," said  Major  Markham  of  Wyck  Wold. 

"Oh,  you  always  get  a  row  if  you  drag  in  politics," 
Mr.  Hawtrey  said. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Sir  John.  "That  was  a  put-up 
job  between  Hitchin  and  Grainger." 

"Struck  me  it  had  every  appearance  of  a  spontaneous 
outburst,"  Major  Markham  said. 

"I've  no  doubt  the  rowdy  element  was  brought  in 


112  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

from  the  outside,"  said  the  Rector.  "Hardly  one  of 
Hitchin's  workpeople  is  a  Wyck  man.  Otherwise  I 
should  have  to  apologize  to  Waddington  for  my  parish- 


ioners." 


(C^ 


'You  needn't.  There  was  nothing  personal  to  me 
in  it.  Nothing  personal  at  all.  Even  Hitchin  wouldn't 
have  had  the  impudence  to  oppose  me  on  my  own  plat- 
fonn.  It  was  the  League  they  were  going  for.  Bit 
too  big  for  'em.  If  you  come  out  with  a  large,  impor- 
tant thing  like  that  there's  sure  to  be  some  opposition 
just  at  first  till  it  g-ets  hold  of  'em." 

"Glad  you  can  see  it  that  way,"  said  Sir  John. 

"My  dear  fellow,  that's  the  way  to  see  it.  It's  the 
right  way;  the  big  impersonal  way." 

"You've  taken  it  in  the  proper  spirit,  Waddington," 
said  the  Rector.  "None  of  those  fellows  meant  any 
real  harm.  All  good  fellows.  .  .  .  By  the  way,  is  it 
true  that  the  Ballingers  have  moved  to  Lower  Wyck  ?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"Dear  me,  what  on  earth  possessed  them  ?" 

"Some  fad  of  Ballinger's,  I  fancy." 

"That  reminds  me,  I  must  go  and  see  Mrs.  Bal- 
linger."  * 

"You  won't  find  them  there,  sir.  They've  moved 
again  to  her  father's  at  Medlicott." 


MR.  WADDIXGTON"  OF  WYCK  113 

"You  don't  say  so.  I  wonder  now  what  they've  done 
that  for." 

"They  complained  of  the  house  being  damp  for  one 
thing.     If  it  was,  that  was  Hitchin's  fault,  not  mine." 

Was  everybody  in  a  plot  to  badger  him  about  those 
wretched  Ballingers  ?  He  was  getting  sick  of  it.  And 
he  wanted  to  speak  a  word  to  Mrs.  Levitt. 

Mrs.  Levitt  had  come  up  in  the  tail  of  the  proces- 
sion. She  had  given  in  her  name  and  her  subscription 
to  Barbara  Madden ;  but  she  lingered,  waiting  no  doubt 
for  a  word  with  him.  If  only  Corbett  and  the  rest 
of  them  would  go. 

"Of  course.  Of  course  it  was  Hitchin's  fault,"  said 
the  Rector,  with  imperishable  geniality.  "Well.  .  .  . 
Good  night,  Waddington,  and  thank  you  for  a  most — a 
most  stimulating  evening." 

They  had  gone  now,  all  but  Sir  John  and  Lady  Cor- 
bett. (He  could  hear  her  talking  to  Fanny  at  the  back 
of  the  platform.)  Mrs.  Levitt  was  gathering  her  scarf 
round  her ;  in  another  minute  she  would  be  gone.  And 
Corbett  wouldn't  go. 

"I  say,  Waddington,  that's  a  splendid  young  cub  of 
yours.  See  him  go  over  the  top?  He'd  have  taken 
them  all  on.     Licked  'em,  too,  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

Mr.  Waddington  resented  this  diversion  of  the  stream 


114  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

of  admiration.     And  he  was   acutely  aware  of  Mrs. 
Levitt  standing  there,  detached  but  waiting. 

"Was  I  really  all  right,  Corbett  ?"  He  wasn't  satis- 
fied with  his  speech.  If  only  he  could  remember  what 
he  had  left  out  of  it. 

"Absolutely,  my  dear  chap.  Absolutely  top-hole. 
You  ought  to  make  that  bov  a  soldier." 

He  wished  that  young  Horace  could  be  a  soldier. at 
that  moment,  stationed  in  a  remote  part  of  the  Empire, 
without  any  likelihood  of  leave  for  the  next  five  years. 
He  wanted — he  wanted  intolerably  to  speak  to  Mrs. 
Levitt,  to  spread  himself  voluptuously  in  her  rejuve- 
nating smile. 

Sir  John  retreated  before  his  manifest  indifference. 
He  could  hear  him  at  the  back  of  the  platform,  con- 
gratulating Fanny. 

Mrs.  Levitt  advanced  towards  him. 

"At  last,"  she  said,  "I  may  add  my  congratulations. 
That  speech  was  magnificent." 

"itTothing,  my  dear  lady,  nothing  but  a  little  neces- 
sary plain  speaking." 

"Oh,  but  you  were  wonderful.  You  carried  us  off 
our  feet." 

"I  hope,"  he  said,  "we've  enrolled  you  as  a  member?" 
(He  knew  they  had.) 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  115 

"Of  course  I'm  enrolled.  And  I've  paid  in  my  poor 
little  guinea  to  that  delightful  l^iss  Madden." 

''Ah,  that  is  too  good  of  you." 

It  was.  The  amount  of  the  subscription  was  purely 
a  matter  of  individual  fancy. 

"It's  the  least  I  could  do  in  such  a  splendid  cause." 

"Well,  dear  Mrs.  Levitt,  we're  delighted  to  have  you 
with  us.     Delighted." 

There  was  a  pause.  He  was  looking  down  at  her 
from  the  height  of  his  six  feet.  The  faint,  sweet  scent 
of  orris  root  rose  up  from  her  warm  skin.  She  was  very 
attractive,  dressed  in  a  low-necked  gown  of  that  dull, 
satiny  stuff  women  were  wearing  now.  A  thin  band  of 
white  net  was  stretched  across  the  top  of  her  breasts; 
through  it  he  could  see  the  shadowy,  arrow-headed 
groove  between ;  her  pendant — pearl  bistre  and  paste — 
pointed,  pointed  down  to  it. 

He  was  wrong  about  Elise  and  jewellery.  That  was 
a  throat  for  pearls  and  for  diamonds.  Emeralds.  She 
would  be  all  black  and  white  and  sparkling  green.  A 
necklace,  he  thought,  wouldn't  hang  on  her;  it  would 
be  laid  out,  exposed  on  that  white  breast  as  on  a  cushion. 
You  could  never  tell  what  a  woman  was  really  like 
till  you'd  seen  her  in  a  low-necked  gown.  It  made  Mrs. 
Levitt  ten  times  more  alluring.  He  smiled  at  her,  a 
tender,  brooding,  rather  fatuous  smile. 


116  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

Mrs.  Levitt  saw  that  her  moment  had  come.  It 
would  be  now  or  never.     She  must  risk  it 

"I  wish,"  she  said,  "you'd  introduce  me  to  your 
wife." 

It  was  a  shock,  a  horrid  blow.  It  showed  plainly  that 
Elise  had  interests  bevond  him,  that  she  was  not,  like 
him,  all  for  the  secret,  solitary  adventure. 

Yet  perhaps — perhaps — she  had  planned  it ;  she 
thought  it  would  be  safer  for  them,  more  discreet. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  the  old,  irrefutable  smile. 

"Will  you  ?"  she  pleaded. 

"Well — I'm  not  sure  that  I  know  where  my  wife  is. 
She  was  here  a  minute  ago,  talking  to  Lady  Corbett." 

He  looked  round.  A  wide  screen  guarded  the  door 
on  to  the  platform.  He  could  see  Lady  Corbett  and 
Fanny  disappearing  behind  it 

"I — I'll  go  and  look  for  her,"  he  said.  He  medi- 
tated treachery.     Treachery  to  poor  Elise. 

He  followed  them  through  the  door  and  down  the 
steps  into  the  concealed  corridor.  He  found  Ralph 
Bevau  there.     Horace  had  gone. 

"I  say,  Ralph,  I  wish  you'd  take  Fanny  home.  She's 
tired.  Get  her  out  of  this.  I  shall  be  here  quite  half 
an  hour  longer;  settling  up  accounts.  You  might  tell 
Kimber  to  come  back  for  me  and  Miss  Madden." 

Now  to  get  to  the  entrance  you  had  to  pass  through 


ME.  WADDINGTO?^^  OF  WYCK  117 

the  swing  door  into  the  hall  and  down  the  side  aisle 
to  the  bottom,  so  that  Mrs.  Levitt  witnessed  Mrs.  Wad- 
dington's  exit  with  Ralph  Bevan.  Mr.  Waddington 
waited  till  the  hall  doors  had  closed  on  them  before 
he  returned. 

"I  can't  find  my  wife  anywhere,"  he  said.  "She 
wasn't  in  the  cloak-room,  so  I  thinlv  she  must  have  gone 
back  with  Horace." 

Mrs.  Levitt  would  think  that  Fanny  had  disappeared 
while  he  was  looking  for  her,  honourably,  in  the  cloak- 
room. 

"I  saw  her  go  out,"  said  Mrs.  Levitt  coldly,  "with 
Mr.  Bevan." 

"I  suppose  he's  taking  her  home,"  he  said  vaguely. 
His  best  policy  was  vagueness.  "And  now,  my  dear 
lady,  I  wish  I  could  take  you  home.  But  I  shall  be  de- 
tained here  some  little  time.  Still,  if  you  don't  mind 
waiting  a  minute  or  two  till  Kimber  comes  back  with  the 
car,  he  shall  drive  you." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Waddington,  I'm  afraid  I've  waited 
quite  long  enough.  It  isn't  worth  while  troubling 
Kimber  to  drive  me  a  hundred  yards." 

It  gave  her  pleasure  to  inflict  that  snub  on  Mr. 
Waddington  in  return  for  his  manoeuvre.  As  the 
meeting  had  now  broken  up,  and  there  wouldn't  be 
anybody  to  witness  her  departure  in  the  Waddingtons' 


118  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

car,  Mrs.  Levitt  calculated  that  she  could  afford  that 
little  gratification  of  her  feelings.  They  were  inten- 
sified by  Mr.  Waddington's  very  evident  distress.  He 
vs'ould  have  walked  home  with  her  the  hundred  yards 
to  Sheep  Street,  but  she  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  She  was 
perfectly  capable  of  seeing  herself  home.  Miss  Mad- 
den was  waiting  for  him.    Good  night. 


Eleven  o'clock.  In  the  library  where  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  was  drinking  his  whisky  and  water,  Fanny  had 
been  crying.  Horry  had  stalked  off  to  his  bedroom 
without  saying  good  night  to  anybody.  Barbara  had  re- 
tired discreetly.  Ralph  Bevan  had  gone.  And  when 
Fanny  thought  of  the  lavender  bags  Susan-N^anna  sent 
every  year  at  Christmas,  she  had  cried. 

"How  could  you  do  it,  Horatio  ?     How  could  you  ?" 

"There  was  nothing  else  to  be  done.  You  can't  ex- 
pect me  to  take  your  sentimental  view  of  Ballinger." 

"It  isn't  Ballinger.  It's  poor  Susan-Nanna  and  the 
babies,  and  the  lavender  bags." 

Mr.  Waddington  swayed  placably  up  and  down  on 
the  tips  of  his  toes.  "It  serves  poor  Susan-Nanna  right 
for  marrying  Ballinger." 

"Oh — I  suppose  it  serves  me  right,  too " 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  119 

Though  she  clenched  her  hands  tight,  tight,  she 
couldn't  keep  back  that  little  spurt  of  anger. 

He  was  smiling  his  peculiar,  voluptuous  smile. 
"Serves  you  right  ?  For  spoiling  everybody  in  the  vil- 
lage ?     It  does  indeed." 

"You  don't  in  the  least  see  what  I  mean,"  said 
Fanny. 

But,  after  all,  she  was  glad  he  hadn't  seen  it. 

He  hadn't  seen  anything.  He  hadn't  seen  that  she 
had  been  crying.  It  had  never  dawned  on  him  that 
she  might  care  about  Susan-lSTanna,  or  that  the  Bal- 
lingers  might  love  their  home,  their  garden  and  their 
lavender  bushes.  He  was  like  that.  He  didn't  see 
things,  and  he  didn't  care. 

He  was  back  in  his  triumph  of  the  evening,  going 
over  the  compliments  and  congi'atulations,  again  and 

again — "Best  speech  ever  made  in  the  Town  Hall " 

But  there  was  something — something  he  had  left  out. 

"Did  it  never  dawn  on  you "  said  Fanny. 

Ah,  now  he  had  it. 

"There!"  he  said.  "I  knew  I'd  forgotten  something. 
I  never  put  in  that  bit  about  the  darkest  hour  before 
dawn." 

Fanny's  mind  had  wandered  from  what  she  had  been 
going  to  say.  "Did  you  see  what  Horry  did  V  she  said 
instead. 


120  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Everybody  could  see  it.     It  was  most  unnecessary." 

"I  don't  care.  Think,  Horatio.  Think  of  his  stick- 
ing up  for  you  like  that.  He  was  going  to  fight  them, 
the  dear  thing,  all  those  great  rough  men.  To  fight 
them  for  you.  He  said  he'd  behave  better  than  anybody 
else,  and  he  did." 

"Yes,  yes.  He  behaved  very  well."  ISTow  that  she 
put  it  to  him  that  way  he  was  touched  by  Horace's  be- 
haviour. He  could  always  be  touched  by  the  thought 
of  anything  you  did  for  him. 

But  Kalph  Bevan  could  have  told  Fanny  she  was  mis- 
taken. Young  Horace  didn't  do  it  altogether  for  his 
father;  he  did  it  for  himself,  for  an  ideal  of  conduct, 
an  ideal  of  honour  that  he  had,  to  let  off  steam,  to 
make  a  sensation  in  the  Town  Hall,  to  feel  himself 
magnificent  and  brave ;  because  he,  too,  was  an  egoist, 
though  a  delightful  one. 

Mr.  Waddington  returned  to  his  speech.  "I  can't 
think  what  made  me  leave  out  that  bit  about  the  dawn." 

"Oh,  bother  your  old  dawn,"  said  Fanny.  "I'm 
going  to  bed." 

She  went,  consoled.  "Dear  Horry,"  she  thought, 
"I'm  glad  he  did  that." 


yiii 


The  Ballinger  affair  did  not  end  with  the  demonstration 
in  the  Town  Hall.  It  had  unforeseen  and  far-reaching 
consequences. 

The  first  of  these  appeared  in  a  letter  which  Mr. 
Wiiddington  received  from  Mr.  Hitchin: 

"Dear  Sik, — 

"Re  my  estimate  for  decoration  and  additional  build- 
ing to  Mrs.  Levitt's  house,  I  beg  to  inform  you  that  re- 
cent circumstances  have  rendered  it  impossible  for  me 
to  take  up  the  contract.  I  must  therefore  request  you 
to  transfer  your  esteemed  order  to  some  other  firm. 
"Faithfully  yours, 

"Thomas  Hitchin." 

Mr.  Hitchin  expressed  his  attitude  even  more  clearly 

to  the  foreman  of  his  works.     "I'm  not  going  to  build 

bathrooms  and  boudoirs  and  bedrooms  for  that " 

the  word  he  chose  completed  the  alliteration.     So  that 

Mr.  Waddington  was  compelled  to  employ  a  Chelten- 

121 


122  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

ham  builder  whose  estimate  exceeded  Mr.  Ilitchin's 
estimate  by  thirty  pounds. 

And  Mr.  Hitchin's  refusal  was  felt,  even  by  people 
who  resented  his  estimates,  to  be  a  moral  protest  that 
did  him  credit.  It  impressed  the  popular  imagination. 
In  the  popular  imagination  Mrs.  Levitt  was  now  in- 
extricably mixed  up  with  the  Ballinger  affair.  Public 
sympathy  was  all  with  Ballinger,  turned  out  of  his 
house  and  forced  to  take  refuge  with  his  wife's  father  at 
Medlicott,  forced  to  trudge  two  and  a  half  miles  every 
day  to  his  work  and  back  again.  The  Rector  and  Major 
Markham  of  Wyck  Wold,  meditating  on  the  Ballinger 
affair  as  they  walked  back  that  night  from  the  Town 
Hall,  pronounced  it  a  mystery. 

"It  wasn't  likely,"  Major  Markham  said,  "that  Bal- 
linger, of  his  own  initiative,  would  leave  a  comfortable 
house  in  Sheep  Street  for  a  damp  cottage  in  Lower 
Wyck." 

"Was  it  likely,"  the  Rector  said,  "that  Waddington 
would  turn  him  out?"  He  couldn't  believe  that  old 
Waddington  would  do  an\'thing  of  the  sort. 

"Unless,"  Major  Markham  suggested,  "he's  been  got 
at.  Mrs.  Levitt  may  have  got  at  him."  He  was  a 
good  sort,  old  Waddy,  but  he  would  be  very  weak  in 
the  hands  of  a  clever,  unscrupulous  woman. 

The  Rector  said  he  thought  there  was  no  harm  in  Mrs. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  123 

Levitt,  and  Major  Markliam  replied  that  he  didn't  like 
the  look  of  her. 

A  vague  scandal  rose  in  Wyck-on-the-IIill.  It  went 
from  mouth  to  mouth  in  bar  parlours  and  back  shops; 
Major  Markham  transported  it  in  his  motor-car  from 
Wyck  Wold  to  the  Halls  and  ]\Ianors  of  Winchv^ay  and 
Chipping  Kingdon  and  ISTorton-in-Mark.  It  got  an 
even  firmer  footing  in  the  county  than  in  Wyck,  with 
the  consequence  that  one  old  lady  withdrew  her  sub- 
scription to  the  League,  and  that  when  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  started  on  his  campaign  of  rounding  up  the  county 
the  county  refused  to  be  rounded  up.  And  the  big 
towns,  Gloucester,  Cheltenham  and  Cirencester,  were 
singularly  apathetic.  It  was  intimated  to  Mr.  Wad- 
dinston  that  if  the  local  authorities  saw  fit  to  take  the 
matter  up  no  doubt  something  would  be  done,  but  the 
big  towns  were  not  anxious  for  a  National  League  of 
Liberty  imposed  on  them  from  Wyck-on-the-Hill. 

The  League  did  not  die  of  Mrs.  Levitt  all  at  once. 
Very  soon  after  the  inaugural  meeting  the  Committee 
sat  at  Lower  Wyck  Manor  and  appointed  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  president.  It  arranged  a  series  of  monthly  meet- 
ings in  the  Town  Hall  at  which  Mr.  Waddington  would 
speak  ("That,"  said  Fanny,  "will  give  you  something 
to  look  forward  to  every  month.")  Thus,  on  Satur- 
day, the  nineteenth  of  July,  he  would  speak  on  "The 


124  MR.  WADDINGTO^  OF  WYCK 

Truth  about  Bolslievism."  It  was  also  decided  that 
the  League  could  he  made  very  useful  during  hy-elec- 
tions  in  the  county,  if  there  ever  were  any,  and  Mr. 
Waddington  prepared  in  fancy  a  great  speech  which  he 
could  use  for  electioneering  purposes. 

On  July  the  nineteenth,  seventeen  people,  counting 
Fanny  and  Barbara,  came  to  the  meeting:  Sir  John 
Corbett  (Lady  Corbett  was  unfortunately  unable  to  at- 
tend), the  Rector  without  his  wife.  Major  Markham  of 
Wyck  "Wold,  Mr.  Bostock  of  Parson's  Bank,  Kimber 
and  Partridge  and  Annie  Trinder  from  the  Manor,  the 
landlady  of  the  White  Hart,  the  butcher,  the  grocer 
and  the  fishmonger  with  whom  Mr.  Waddington  dealt, 
three  farmers  who  approved  of  his  determination  to 
keep  down  wages,  and  ]\Irs.  Levitt.  When  he  sat  down 
and  drank  water  there  was  a  feeble  clapping  led  by 
Mrs.  Levitit,  Sir  John  and  the  Rector.  On  August 
the  sixteenth,  the  audience  had  shrunk  to  Mrs.  Levitt, 
Kimber  and  Partridge,  the  butcher,  one  of  the  three 
farmers,  and  a  visitor  staying  at  the  White  Hart.  Mr. 
Waddington  spoke  on  "What  the  League  Can  Do," 
Owing  to  a  sudden  unforeseen  shortage  in  his  ideas 
he  was  obliged  to  fall  back  on  his  electioneering  speech 
and  show  how  useful  the  League  would  be  if  at  any  time 
there  were  a  by-election  in  the  county.  The  pop-pop- 
ping of  Mrs.  Levitt's  hands  burst  into  a  silent  space. 


MR.  WADDIXGTON  OF  WYCK  125 

Nobody,  not  even  Kimber  or  Partridge,  was  going  to 
follow  Mrs.  Levitt's  lead. 

"You'll  have  to  give  it  up,"  Fanny  said.  "Next  time 
there  won't  be  anybody  but  Mrs.  Levitt."  And  with 
the  vision  before  him  of  all  those  foolish,  empty  benches 
and  Mrs.  Levitt,  pop-popping,  dear  brave  woman,  all 
by  herself,  Mr.  Waddington  admitted  that  he  would 
have  to  give  it  up.  Not  that  he  owned  himself  beaten ; 
not  that  he  gave  up  his  opinion  of  the  League. 

"It's  a  bit  too  big  for  'em,"  he  said.  "They  can't 
grasp  it.  Sleepy  minds.  You  can't  rouse  'em  if  they 
won't  be  roused." 

He  emerged  from  his  defeat  witJi  an  unbroken  sense 
of  intellectual  superiority. 


Thus  the  League  languished  and  died  out;  and  Mr. 
Waddington,  in  the  absence  of  this  field  for  personal 
activity,  languished  too.  In  spite  of  his  intellectual 
superiority,  perhaps  because  of  it,  he  languished  till 
Barbara  pointed  out  to  him  that  the  situation  had  its 
advantages.     At  last  he  could  go  on  with  his  book. 

"If  you  can  only  start  him  on  it  and  keep  him  at  it," 
Fanny  said,  "I'll  bless  you  for  ever." 

But  it  was  not  easy  either  to  start  him  or  to  keep  him 
at  it.     To  begin  with,  as  Ralph  had  warned  her,  the 


126  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

work  itself,  Ramhlings  Through  the  Cotswolds,  was  in 
an  appalling  mess,  and  Mr.  Waddington  seemed  to  have 
exhausted  his  original  impetus  in  getting  it  into  that 
mess.  He  had  set  out  on  his  ramhlings  without  any 
settled  plan.  "A  rambler,"  ho  said,  ^'shouldn't  have  a 
settled  plan."  So  that  you  would  find  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton,  starting  from  Wyek-on-the-Hill  and  arriving  at 
Lechford  in  the  Thames  valley,  turning  up  in  the  valley 
of  the  Windlode  or  the  Speed.  You  would  find  him 
on  page  twenty-seven  drinking  ale  at  the  Lygon  Arms 
in  Chipping  Kingdon,  and  on  page  twenty-eight  look- 
ing dowp  on  the  Evesham  plain  from  the  heights  south 
of  Cheltenham.  He  would  turn  from  this  prospect  and, 
without  traversing  any  intei*mediate  ground,  be  back 
again,  where  you  least  expected  him,  in  his  Manor 
under  Wyck-on-the-Hill.  For  though  he  had  no  fixed 
plan,  he  had  a  fixed  idea,  and  however  far  he  rambled 
he  returned  invariably  to  Wyck.  To  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  Wyck-on-the-Hill  was  the  one  stable,  the  one  certain 
spot  on  the  earth's  surface,  and  this  led  to  his  treating 
the  map  of  Gloucestershire  entirely  with  reference  to 
Wyck-on-the-Hill,  so  that  all  his  ramhlings  were  com- 
plicated by  the  necessity  laid  on  him  of  starting  from 
and  getting  back  to  it. 

So  much  Barbara  made  out  after  she  had  copied  the 
first  fortv  paiies,  making:  the  first  clearing  in  Mr.  Wad- 


MR.  WADDINGTO^  OF  WYCK  127 

ilington's  jungle.  The  clearings,  she  explained  to 
Ralph,  broke  your  heart.  Tt  wasn't  till  you'd  got  the 
thing  all  clean  and  tidy  that  you  realized  the  deep 
{spiritual  confusion  that  lay  hehind  it. 

After  that  fortieth  page  the  Ramhlings  piled  and 
mixed  themselves  in  three  interpenetrating  layers. 
First  there  was  the  original  layer  of  Waddington,  then 
a  layer  of  Ralph  superimposed  on  Waddington  and 
striking  down  into  him ;  then  a  top  layer  of  Wadding- 
ton, striking  down  into  Ralph.  First,  the  primeval 
chaos  of  Waddington;  then  Ralph's  spirit  moving  over 
it  and  bringing  in  light  and  order;  then  Waddington 
again,  invading  it  and  beating  it  all  back  to  darkness 
and  confusion.  From  the  moment  Ralph  came  into  it 
the  progress  of  the  book  was  a  struggle  between  these 
two  principles,  and  Waddington  could  never  let  Ralph 
be,  so  determined  was  he  to  stamp  the  book  with  his 
own  personality. 

"After  all,"  Ralph  said,  "it  is  his  book." 

"If  he  could  only  get  away  from  Wyck,  so  that  you 
could  see  where  the  other  places  are/'  she  moaned. 

"He  can't  get  away  from  it  because  he  can't  get  away 
from  himself.  His  mind  is  egocentric  and  his  ego  lives 
in  Wyck." 

Barbara  had  had  to  ask  Ralph  to  help  her.  They 
were  in  the  library  together  now,  working  on  the  Ram- 


128  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

blings  during  one  of  Mr.  Wadding-ton's  periodical  flights 
to  London. 

^'He  thinks  lie's  rambling  round  the  country  but  he's 
really  rambling  round  and  round  himself.  All  the 
time  he's  thinking  about  nothing  but  his  blessed  self." 

"Oh,  come,  he  thought  a  lot  about  his  old  League." 

"jtTo,  the  League  was  only  an  extension  of  his  ego." 

"That  must  have  been  what  Fanny  meant.  We  were 
looking  at  his  portrait  and  I  said  I  wondered  what  he 
was  thinking  about,  and  she  said  she  used  to  wonder 
and  now  she  knew.  Of  course,  it's  Himself.  That's 
what  makes  him  look  so  absurdly  solemn." 

"Yes,  but  think  of  it.  Think.  That  man  hasn't 
ever  cared  about  anything  or  anybody  but  himself." 

"Oh — he  cares  about  Fanny." 

"No.  No,  he  doesn't.  He  cares  about  his  wife.  A 
very  different  thing." 

"Well — he  cares  about  his  old  mother.  He  really 
cares." 

"Yes,  and  you  know  why?  It's  only  because  she 
makes  him  feel  young.  He  hates  Horry  because  he 
can't  feel  young  when  he's  there." 

"Why,  oh  why,  did  that  angel  Fanny  marry  him?" 

"Because  she  isn't  an  angel.  She's  a  mortal  woman 
and  she  wanted  a  husband  and  children." 

"Wasn't  there  anybody  else  ?" 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  129 

"I  believe  not — available.  The  man  she  ought  to 
have  married  was  married  already." 

"Did  my  mother  marry  him?" 

"Yes.  And  my  mother  married  the  next  best  one. 
...  It  was  as  plain  and  simple  as  all  that.  And  you 
see,  the  plainer  and  simpler  it  was,  the  more  she  realized 
why  she  was  marrying  Horatio,  the  more  she  idealized 
him.     It  wanted  camouflage." 

"I  see." 

"Then  you  must  remember  her  people  were  badly  off 
and  he  helped  them.  He  was  always  doing  things  for 
them.  He  managed  all  Fanny's  affairs  for  her  before 
he  married  her." 

"Then — he  does  kind  things." 

"Lots.  AVhen  he  wants  to  get  something.  He  wanted 
to  get  Fanny.  .  .  .  Besides,  he  does  them  to  get  power, 
to  get  a  hold  on  you.  It's  really  for  himself  all  the 
time.  It  gives  him  a  certain  simplicity  and  purity. 
He  isn't  a  snob.  He  doesn't  think  about  his  money 
or  his  property,  or  his  ancestors — he's  got  heaps — quite 
good  ones.  They  don't  matter.  Nothing  matters  but 
himself." 

"How  about  his  book  ?     Doesn't  that  matter  ?" 

"It  does  and  yet  again  it  doesn't.  He  pretends  he's 
only  doing  it  to  amuse  himself,  but  it's  really  a  pro- 
jection of  his  ego  into  the  Cotswolds.     On  the  other 


130  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

hand,  he'd  hate  it  if  joii  took  him  for  a  writing  man 
when  he's  Horatio  Bysshe  Waddington.  That's  how 
he's  got  it  into  such  a  mess,  because  he  can't  get  away 
from  himself  and  his  Manor." 

"Proud  of  his  Manor,  anyhow." 

"Oh,  yes.  ISTot,  mind  you,  because  it's  perfect  Tudor 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  nor  because  the  Earl  of  War- 
wick gave  it  to  his  great-gTandfather's  great-great-grand- 
father, but  because  it's  his  Manor.  Horatio  Bysshe 
Waddington's  Manor.  Of  course,  it's  got  to  be  what  it 
is  because  any  other  sort  of  Manor  wouldn't  be  good 
enough  for  Bysshe." 

"It's  an  extension  of  his  ego,  too  ?" 

*        — —  — — 

"Yes.  Horatio's  ego  spreading  itself  in  wings  and 
bursting  into  ball-topped  gables  and  overflowing  into  a 
lovely  garden  and  a  park.  There  isn't  a  tree,  there 
isn't  a  flower  that  hasn't  got  bits  of  Horatio  in  it." 

"If  I  thought  that  I  should  never  want  to  see  roses 
and  larkspurs  again." 

"It  only  happens  in  Horatio's  mind.  But  it  does 
happen." 

So,  between  them,  bit  by  bit,  they  made  him  out. 

And  they  made  out  the  book.  Here  and  there,  on 
separate  slips,  were  great  outlying  tracts  of  light,  con- 
tributed by  Ralph,  to  be  inserted,  and  sketchy  of  dark, 
undeveloped  stuff,  sprung  from  Waddington,  to  be  in- 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  131 

serted  too.  Neither  Ralph  nor  Barbara  could  make 
them  fit.  The  only  thing  was  to  copy  it  out  clear  as  it 
stood  and  arrange  it  afterwards.  And  presently  it 
appeared  that  two  pages  were  missing. 

One  evening,  the  evening  of  Mr.  Waddington's  re- 
turn, looking  for  the  lost  pages,  Barbara  made  her  great 
discovery:  a  sheaf  of  manuscript,  a  hundred  and 
twenty  pages  in  Ralph's  handwriting,  hidden  away  at 
the  back  of  the  bureau,  crumpled  as  if  an  inimical 
hand  had  thrust  it  out  of  sight.  She  took  it  up  to  bed 
and  read  it  there. 

A  hundred  and  twenty  pages  of  pure  Ralph  without 
any  taint  of  Waddington.  It  seemed  to  be  part  of 
Mr.  Waddington's  book,  and  yet  no  part  of  it,  for 
it  was  inconceivable  that  it  should  belong  to  anything 
but  itself.  Ralph  didn't  ramble;  he  went  straight  for 
the  things  he  had  seen.  He  saw  the  Cotswolds  round 
Wyck-on-the-Hill,  he  made  you  see  them,  as  they  were : 
the  high  curves  of  the  hills,  multiplied,  thrown  off, 
one  after  another;  the  squares  and  oblongs  and  van- 
dykes  and  spread  fans  of  the  fields;  and  their  many 
colours;  grass  green  of  the  pastures,  emerald  green  of 
the  young  wheat,  white  green  of  the  barley;  shining, 
metallic  green  of  the  turnips;  the  pink,  the  brown, 
the  purple  fallows,  the  sharp  canary  yellow  of  the 


133  MK.  WADDINGTOI^  OF  WYCK 

charlock.  And  the  trees,  the  long  processions  of  trees 
by  the  great  grass-bordered  roads;  trees  furring  the 
flanks  and  groins  of  the  parted  hills,  dark  combs  top- 
ping their  edges. 

Ralph  knew  what  he  was  doing.  He  went  about 
with  the  farmers  and  fann  hands;  he  followed  the 
ploughing  and  sowing  and  the  reaping,  the  feeding  and 
milking  of  the  cattle,  the  care  of  the  ewes  in  labour 
and  of  the  young  lambs.  He  went  at  night  to  the 
upland  folds  with  the  shepherds ;  he  could  tell  you  about 
•shepherds.  He  sat  with  the  village  women  by  their 
firesides  and  listened  to  their  talk;  he  could  tell  you 
:about  village  women.  Mr.  Waddington  did  not  tell 
70U  about  anything  that  mattered. 

She  took  the  manuscript  to  Ralph  at  the  White 
Hart  with  a  note  to  say  how  she  had  found  it.  He 
came  running  out  to  walk  home  with  her. 

"Did  you  know  it  was  there?"  she  said. 

"'No.     I  thought  I'd  lost  it.     You  see  what  it  is?" 

"Part  of  your  book." 

"Horatio's  book." 

"But  you  wrote  it." 

"Yes.  That's  what  he  fired  me  out  for.  He  got 
tired  of  the  thing  and  asked  me  to  go  on  with  it.  He 
called  it  working  up  his  material.  I  went  on  with  it 
like  that,  and  he  wouldn't  have  it.     He  said  it  was 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  133 

badly  written — jerky,  short  sentences — he'd  have  to 
re-write  it.  Well — I  wouldn't  let  him  do  that,  and 
he  wouldn't  have  it  as  it  stood." 

"But — it's  beautiful — alive  and  real.  What  more 
does  he  want?" 

"The  stamp  of  his  personality." 

"Oh,  he'd  stamp  on  it  all  right." 

"I'm  glad  you  like  it." 

"Like  it.     Don't  you?" 

Ralph  said  he  thought  he'd  liked  it  when  he  wrote 
it,  but  now  he  didn't  know. 

"You'll  know  when  you've  finished  it." 

"I  don't  suppose  I  shall  finish  it,"  he  said. 

"But  you  must.  You  can't  not  finish  a  thing  like 
that." 

"I  own  I'd  like  to.     But  I  can't  publish  it." 

"Why  ever  not  ?" 

"Oh,  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  poor  old  Waddy.  After 
all,  I  wrote  it  for  him." 

"What  on  earth  does  that  matter?  If  he  doesn't 
want  it.  Of  course  you'll  finish  it,  and  of  course  you'll 
publish  it." 

"Well,  but  it's  all  Cotswold,  you  see.  And  he's 
Cotswold.  If  it  is  any  good,  you  know,  I  shouldn't 
like  to — to  well,  get  in  his  way.  It's  his  game.  At 
least  he  began  it." 


134  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"It's  a  game  two  can  play,  writing  Cotswold  books." 

"No.     No.     It   isn't.     And   lie  got   in   first." 

"Well,  then,  let  him  get  in  first.  You  can  bring 
your  book  out  after." 

"And  dish  his?" 

"No,  let  it  have  a  run  first.  Perhaps  it  won't  have 
any  run." 

"Perhaps  mine  won't." 

"Yours.     That  heavenly  book?     And  his  tosh 

Don't  you  see  that  you  cant  get  in  his  way ?  If  any- 
body reads  him  they  won't  be  the  same  people  who 
read  you." 

"I  hope  not.  All  the  same  it  would  be  rather  beastly 
to  cut  him  out;  I  mean  to  come  in  and  do  it  better, 
show  how  bad  he  is,  how  frightful.  It  would  rub  it 
in,  you  know." 

"Not  with  him.     You  couldn't." 

"You  don't  know.  Some  brute  might  get  up  and 
hurt  him  with  it." 

"Oh,  you  are  tender  to  him." 

"Well,  you  see,  I  did  let  him  down  when  I  left 
him.  Besides,  it  isn't  altogether  him.  There's 
Fanny." 

"Fanny?     She'd  love  you  to  write  your  book." 

"I  know  she'd  think  she  would.  But  she  wouldn't 
like  it  if  it  made  Horatio  look  a  fool." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  135 

"But  he's  bound  to  look  a  fool  in  any  case." 


» 


"True.     I  might  give  him  a  year,  or  two  years. 

"Well,  then,  my  work's  cut  out  for  me.  I  shall 
have  to  make  Horatio  go  on  and  finish  quick,  so  as  not 
to  keep  you  waiting." 

"He'll  get  sick  of  it  He'll  make  you  go  on  with 
it." 

"Mef 

"Practically,  and  quarrel  with  every  word  you  write. 
Unless  you  can  write  so  like  Horatio  that  he'll  think 
he's  done  it  himself.  And  then,  you  know,  he  won't 
have  a  word  of  mine  left  in.  You'll  have  to  take 
me  out.  And  we're  so  mixed  up  together  that  I  don't 
believe  even  he  could  sort  us.  You  see,  in  order  to 
appease  him,  I  got  into  the  way  of  giving  my  sen- 
tences a  Waddingtonian  twist.  If  only  I  cculd  have 
kept  it  up " 

"I'll  have  to  lick  the  thing  into  shape  somehow." 

"There's  only  one  thing  you'll  have  to  do.  You 
must  make  him  steer  a  proper  course.  This  is  to  be 
the  Guide  to  the  Cotswolds.  You  can't  have  him  send- 
ing people  back  to  Lower  Wyck  Manor  all  the  time. 
You'll  have  to  know  all  the  places  and  all  the  ways." 

"And  I  don't." 

"No.     But  I   do.     Supposing  I   took   you   on   my 


136  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

motor-bike?  Would  you  awfully  mind  sitting  on  the 
earner  i 

''Do  you  think,"  she  said,  "he'd  let  me  go  ?" 

"Fanny  will." 

"I  could,  I  think.  I  work  so  hard  in  the  mornings 
and  evenings  that  they've  given  me  all  the  afternoons." 

"We  might  go  every  afternoon  v/hile  the  weather 
holds  out,"  he  said.  And  then :  "I  say,  he  does  bring 
us  together." 

That  was  how  Barbara's  happy  life  began. 


He  did  bring  them  together. 

In  the  terrible  months  that  followed,  while  she 
struggled  for  order  and  clarity  against  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton,  who  strove  to  reinstate  himself  in  his  obscure 
confusion,  Barbara  was  sustained  by  the. thought  that 
in  working  for  Mr.  Waddington  she  was  working  for 
Ealph  Bevan.  The  harder  she  worked  for  him  the 
harder  she  worked  for  Ealph.  With  all  her  cunning 
and  her  little  indomitable  will  she  urged  and  drove 
him  to  get  on  and  make  way  for  Ralph.  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton interposed  all  sorts  of  irritating  obstructions  and 
delays.  He  would  sit  for  hours,  brooding  solemnly, 
equally  unable  to  finish  and  to  abandon  any  paragi-aph 
he  had  once  begun.     He  had  left  the  high  roads  and 


MR.  WADDIXGTOX  OF  WYCK  137 

was  rambling  now  in  bye-ways  of  such  intricacy  that 
he  was  unable  to  give  any  clear  account  of  himself. 
When  Barbara  had  made  a  clean  copy  of  it  Mr.  Wad- 
diugton's  part  didn't  always  make  sense.  The  only 
bits  that  could  stand  by  themselves  were  Ralph's  bits, 
and  they  were  the  bits  that  Mr.  Waddington  wouldn't 
let  stand.  The  very  clearness  of  the  copy  was  a  light 
flaring  on  the  hopeless  mess  it  was.  Even  Mr.  Wad- 
dington could  see  it. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  said,  "we've  got  it  all  down  in 
the  right  order?"     She  pointed. 

''What's  that?"  She  could  see  his  hands  twitching 
with  annoyance.  His  loose  cheeks  hung  shaking  as 
he  brooded. 

"That's  not  as  /  wrote  it,"  he  said  at  last.  "That's 
Ralph  Bevan.  He  wasn't  a  bit  of  good  to  me. 
There's — there's  no  end  to  the  harm  he's  done.  Con- 
ceited fellow,  full  of  himself  and  his  own  ideas.  Now 
I  shall  have  to  go  over  every  line  he's  written  and  write 
it  again.  I'd  rather  write  a  dozen  books  myself  than 
patch  up  another  fellow's  bad  work.  .  .  .  We've  got 
to  overhaul  the  whole  thing  and  take  out  whatever  he's 
done." 

"But  you're  so  mixed  up  you  can't  always  tell." 

He  looked  at  her.     "  You  may  be  sure  that  if  any 


138  ME.  WADDINGTON  OP  WYCK 

passage  ia  obscure  or  confused  or  badly  written  it  isn't 
mine.     The  one  you've  sliown  me,  for  example." 

Then  Barbara  had  another  of  her  ideas.  Since  they 
were  so  mixed  up  together  that  Mr.  Waddington 
couldn't  tell  which  was  which,  and  since  he  wanted  to 
give  the  impression  that  Ralph  was  responsible  for  all 
the  bad  bits,  and  insisted  on  the  complete  elimination 
of  Ealph,  she  had  only  got  to  eliminate  the  bad  bits  and 
give  such  a  Waddingtonian  turn  to  the  good  ones  that 
he  would  be  persuaded  that  he  had  written  them  him- 
self. 

The  great  thing  was,  he  said,  that  the  book  should  be 
written  by  himself.  And  once  fairly  extricated  from 
his  own  entanglements  and  set  going  on  a  clear  path, 
with  Barbara  to  pull  him  out  of  all  the  awkward  places, 
Mr.  Waddington  rambled  along  through  the  Cotswolds 
at  a  smooth,  easy  pace.  Barbara  had  contrived  to  break 
him  of  his  wasteful  and  expensive  habit  of  returaing 
from  everywhere  to  Wyck.  All  through  August  he 
kept  a  steady  course  north-east,  north,  north-west;  by 
September  he  had  turned  due  south ;  he  would  be  beat- 
ing up  east  again  by  October;  ISTovember  would  find 
him  in  the  valleys;  there  was  no  reason  why  he 
shouldn't  finish  in  December  and  come  out  in  March. 

Mr.  Waddington  himself  was  surprised  at  the  prog- 
ress he  had  made. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  139 

"It  shows,"  he  said,  "what  we  can  do  without  Ralph 
Bevan." 

And  Barbara,  seated  on  Ralph's  carrier,  explored 
the  countryside  and  mapped  out  Mr.  Waddington's 
course  for  him. 

"She's  worth  a  dozen  Ralph  Bevans,"  he  would  say. 

And  he  would  go  to  the  door  with  her  and  see  her 
start. 

"You  mustn't  let  yourself  be  victimized  by  Ralph," 
he  said.  lie  glanced  at  the  carrier.  "Do  you  think 
it's  safe  ?" 

"Quite  safe.  If  it  isn't  it'll  only  be  a  bit  more 
thrilling." 

"Much  better  come  in  the  car  with  me." 

But  Barbara  wouldn't  go  in  the  car  with  him.  When 
he  talked  about  it  she  looked  frightened  and  embar- 
rassed. 

Her  fright  and  her  embarrassment  were  delicious  to 
Mr.  Waddington.  He  said  to  himself:  "She  doesn't 
think  that's  safe,  anvhow." 

And  as  he  watched  her  rushing  away,  swaying 
exquisitely  over  a  series  of  terrific  explosions,  he  gave  a 
little  skip  and  a  half  turn,  light  and  youthful,  in  the 
porch  of  his  Manor. 


IX 


SiE  John  Cokbett  had  called  in  the  morning.  He  had 
exerted  himself  to  that  extent  out  of  friendship,  pure 
friendship  for  Waddington,  and  he  had  chosen  an  early 
hour  for  his  visit  to  mark  it  as  a  serious  and  extraor- 
dinary occasion.  He  sat  now  in  the  brown  leather 
annchair  which  was  twin  to  the  one  Mr.  Waddington 
had  sat  in  when  he  had  his  portrait  painted.  His  jolly, 
rosy  face  was  subdued  to  something  serious  and 
extraordinary.  He  had  come  to  warn  Mr.  Waddington 
that  scandal  was  beginning  to  attach  itself  to  his 
acquaintance — he  was  going  to  say  "relations,"  but 
remembered  just  in  time  that  "relations"  was  a  ques- 
tion-begging word — to  his  acquaintance  with  a  certain 
lady. 

To  which  Mr.  Waddington  replied,  haughtily,  that 
he  had  a  perfect  right  to  choose  his — er — acquaintance. 
His  acquaintance  was,  pre-eminently,  his  own  affair, 

"Quite  so,  my  dear  fellow,  quite  so.  But,  strictly 
between  ourselves,  is  it  a  good  thing  to  choose  acquaint- 
ances of  the  sort  that  give  rise  to  scandal  ?    As  a  man 

140 


ME.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  141 

of  the  world,  now,  between  ourselves,  doesn't  it  strike 
you  that  the  lady  in  question  may  be  that  sort  ?" 

"It  does  not  strike  me,"  said  Mr.  Waddington,  "and 
I  see  no  reason  why  it  should  strike  you." 

"I  don't  like  the  look  of  her,"  said  Sir  John,  quoting 
Major  Markham. 

"If  you're  tiding  to  suggest  that  she's  not  straight, 
you're  reading  something  into  her  look  that  isn't  there." 

"Come,  Waddington,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
when  a  man's  knocked  about  the  world  like  you  and  me, 
he  gets  an  instinct;  he  can  tell  pretty  well  by  looking 
at  her  whether  a  woman's  that  sort  or  not." 

"My  dear  Corbett,  my  instinct  is  at  least  as  good  as 
yours.  I've  known  Mrs.  Levitt  for  three  years,  and  I 
can  assure  she's  as  straight,  as  innocent,  as  your  wife 


or  mine." 


"Clever — clever  and  a  bit  unscnipulous."  Again 
Sir  John  quoted  Major  Markham.  "A  woman  like  that 
can  get  round  simple  fellows  like  you  and  me, 
Waddington,  in  no  time,  if  she  gives  her  mind  to  it. 
That's  why  I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  her.  She 
may  be  as  straight  and  innocent  as  you  please;  but 
somehow  or  other  she's  causing  a  great  deal  of  unpleas- 
ant talk,  and  if  I  were  you  I'd  drop  her.  Drop 
her." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort." 


142  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"My  dear  fellow,  that's  all  very  well,  but  when 
everybody  knows  your  wife  hasn't  called  on  her " 

"There  was  no  need  for  Fanny  to  call  on  her.  My 
relations  with  Mrs.  Levitt  were  on  a  purely  business 
footing " 

"Well,  I'd  leave  them  there,  and  not  too  much  foot- 
ing either." 

"What  can  I  do?  Here  she  is,  a  war  widow  with 
nobody  but  me  to  look  after  her  interests.  She's  got 
into  the  way  of  coming  to  me,  and  I'm  not  going  back 
on  the  poor  woman,  Corbott,  because  of  your  absurd 
insinuations." 

"JSTot  my  insinuations." 

"Anybody's  insinuations  then.  Nobody  has  a  right 
to  insinuate  anything  about  me.  As  for  Fanny,  she'll 
make  a  point  of  calling  on  her  now.  We  were  talking 
about  it  not  long  ago." 

"A  bit  hard  on  Mrs.  Waddington  to  be  let  in  for  that." 

"You  needn't  worry.  Fanny  can  afford  to  do  pretty 
well  what  she  likes." 

He  had  him  there.  Sir  John  knew  that  this  was 
true  of  Fanny  Waddington,  as  it  was  not  true  of  Lady 
Corbett.  He  could  remember  the  time  when  nobody 
called  on  his  father  and  mother;  and  Lady  Corbett 
could  not,  yet,  afford  to  call  on  Mrs.  Levitt  before  any- 
body else  did. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  143 

"Well,"  he  said,  "so  lon<]^  as  Mrs.  Levitt  doesn't 
expect  my  wife  to  follow  suit." 

"Mrs.  Levitt's  experience  can't  have  led  her  to  expect 
much  in  the  way  of  kindness  here." 

"Well,  don't  be  too  kind.  You  don't  know  how  you 
may  be  landed.  You  don't  know,"  said  Sir  John  fatally, 
"what  ideas  you  may  have  put  into  the  poor  woman's 
head." 

"I  should  be  very  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Waddington,  "if  I 
thought  for  one  moment  I  had  roused  any  warmer 
feelings " 

But  he  wasn't  soiTy.  He  tried  hard  to  make  his 
face  express  a  chivalrous  regret,  and  it  wouldn't.  It 
was  positively  smiling,  so  agreeable  was  the  idea  con- 
veyed by  Sir  John.  He  turned  it  over  and  over,  drawing 
out  its  delicious  flavour,  while  Sir  John's  little  laughing 
eyes  observed  his  enjoyment. 

"You  don't  know,"  he  said,  "what  you  may  have 
roused." 

There  was  something  very  irritating  in  his  fat 
chuckle. 

"You  needn't  disturb  yourself.  These  things  will 
happen.  A  woman  may  be  carried  away  by  her  feel- 
ings, but  if  a  man  has  any  tact  and  any  delicacy  he  can 
always  show  her  very  well — without  breaking  off  all 
relations.     That  would  be  clumsy." 


144  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Of  course,  if  you  want  to  keep  up  witli  her,  keep 
up  with  her.  Only  take  care  you  don't  get  landed, 
that's  all." 

"You  may  he  quite  sure  that  for  the  lady's  own  sake 
I  shall  take  care." 

They  rose;  Mr.  Waddington  stood  looking  down  at 
Sir  John  and  his  little  round  stomach  and  his  little 
round  eyes  with  their  obscene  twinkle.  And  for  the 
life  of  him  he  couldn't  feel  the  indignation  he  would 
like  to  have  felt.  As  his  eyes  encountered  Sir  John's 
something  secret  and  primitive  in  Mr.  Waddington 
responded  to  that  obscene  twinkle;  something  remi- 
niscent and  anticipating;  something  mischievous  and 
subtle  and  delightful,  subversive  of  dignity.  It  came 
up  in  his  solemn  face  and  simmered  there.  Here  was 
Corbett,  a  thorough-paced  man  of  the  world,  and  he 
took  it  for  granted  that  Mrs.  Levitt's  feelings  had  been 
roused ;  he  acknowledged,  handsomely,  as  male  to  male, 
the  fascination  that  had  roused  them.  He,  Corbett, 
knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  He  saw  the  whole 
possibility  of  romantic  adventure  with  such  flatter- 
ing certitude  that  it  was  impossible  to  feel  any  resent- 
ment. 

At  the  same  time  his  interference  was  a  piece  of 
abominable  impertinence,  and  Mr.  Waddington  re- 
sented that.    It  made  him  more  than  ever  determined  to 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  145 

pursue  his  relations  with  Mrs.  Levitt,  just  to  show  he 
wasn't  going  to  be  dictated  to,  while  the  very  fact  that 
Corbett  saw  him  as  a  figure  of  romantic  adventure 
intensified  the  excitement  of  the  pursuit.  And  though 
Elise,  seen  with  certainty  in  the  light  of  Corbett's 
intimations,  was  not  quite  so  enthralling  to  the  fancy 
as  the  Elise  of  his  doubt,  she  made  a  more  positive  and 
formidable  appeal  to  his  desire.  He  loved  his  desire 
because  it  made  him  feel  young,  and,  loving  it,  he 
thought  he  loved  Elise. 

And  what  Corbett  was  thinking,  Markham  and 
Thurston,  and  Hawtrey  and  young  Hawtrey,  and 
Grainger,  would  be  thinking  too.  They  would  all  see 
him  as  the  still  young,  romantic  adventurer,  the  inspirer 
of  passion. 

And  Bevan But  no,  he  didn't  want  Bevan  to 

see  him  like  that.  Or  rather,  he  did,  and  yet  again  he 
didn't.  He  had  scruples  when  it  came  to  Bevan, 
because  of  Fanny.  And  because  of  Fanny,  while  he 
rioted  in  visions  of  the  possible,  he  dreaded  more  than 
anything  an  actual  detection,  the  raking  eyes  and  fur- 
tive tongues  of  the  townspeople.  If  Fanny  called  on 
Mrs.  Levitt  it  would  stop  all  the  talking. 

That  was  how  Fanny  came  to  know  Mrs.  Levitt, 
and  how  Mrs.  Levitt  (and  Toby)  came  to  be  asked  to 
the  September  garden  party  at  Lower  Wyck  Manor. 


146  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 


Mrs.  Levitt,  of  the  White  House,  Wyck-on-the-Hill, 
Gloucestershire. 

She  thought  it  sounded  very  well.  She  had  heen 
out,  that  is  to  say,  she  had  judged  it  more  becoming 
to  her  dignity  not  to  he  at  home  when  Fanny  called; 
and  Fanny  had  heen  actually  out  when  Mrs.  Levitt 
called,  so  that  they  met  for  the  first  time  at  the  garden 
party. 

"It's  absurd  our  not  knowing  each  other,"  Fanny 
said,  "when  my  husband  knows  you  so  well." 

"I've  always  felt,  Mrs.  Waddington,  that  I  ought  to 
know  you,  if  it's  only  to  tell  you  how  good  he's  been 
to  me.    But,  of  course,  you  know  it." 

"I  know  it  quite  well.  He's  always  being  good  to 
people.  He  likes  it.  You  must  take  off  some  of  the 
credit  for  that." 

She  thought:  "She  has  really  very  beautiful  eyes." 
A  lot  of  credit  would  have  to  be  taken  off  for  her  eyes, 
too. 

"But  isn't  that,"  said  Mrs.  Levitt,  "what  being 
good  is?  To  like  being  it  ?  Only  I  suppose  that's  just 
what  lays  him  open " 

She  lowered  the  eyes  whose  brilliance  had  blazed  a 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  147 

moment  ago  on  Fanny;  she  toyed  with  her  handbag, 
smiling  a  little  secret,  roguish  smile. 

"That  lays  him  open  ?" 

Mrs.  Levitt  looked  up,  smiling.  "To  the  attacks  of 
unscrupulous  people  like  me." 

It  was  risky,  but  it  showed  a  masterly  boldness  and 
presence  of  mind.  It  was  as  if  she  and  Fanny 
Waddington  had  had  their  eyes  fixed  on  a  live  scorpion 
approaching  them  over  the  lawn,  and  ^Irs.  Levitt  had 
stooped  down  and  grasped  it  by  its  tail  and  tossed  it 
into  the  lavender  bushes.  As  if  Mrs.  Levitt  had  said, 
"My  dear  Mrs.  "Waddington,  we  both  know  that  this 
horrible  creature  exists,  but  we  aren't  going  to  let  it 
sting  us."  As  if  she  knew  why  Fanny  had  called  on 
her  and  was  grateful  to  her. 

Perhaps  if  Mrs.  Levitt  had  never  appeared  at  that 
garden  party,  or  if,  having  appeared,  she  had  never 
been  introduced,  at  their  own  request,  to  Major  Mark- 
ham,  Mr.  Thurston,  Mr.  Hawtrey  and  young  Hawtrey 
and  Sir  John  Corbett,  Mr.  "Waddington  might  never 
have  realized  the  full  extent  of  her  fascination. 

She  had  made  herself  the  centre  of  the  party  by  her 
sheer  power  to  seize  attention  and  to  hold  it.  You 
couldn't  help  looking  at  her,  again  and  again,  where 
she  sat  in  a  clearing  of  the  lawn,  playing  the  clever, 
pointed  play  of  her  black  and  white,  black  satin  frock, 


148  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

black  satin  cloak  lined  with  white  silk,  furred  with 
ermine ;  white  stockings  and  long  white  gloves,  the  close 
black  satin  hat  clipping  her  head ;  the  vivid  contrast 
and  stress  repeated  in  white  skin,  black  hair,  black  eyes ; 
black  eyes  and  fine  mouth  and  white  teeth  making  a 
charming  and  perpetual  movement. 

She  had  been  talking  to  Major  Markham  for  the  last 
ten  minutes,  displaying  herself  as  the  absurdly  youthful 
mother  of  a  gTown-up  son.  Toby  Levitt,  a  tall  and 
slender  likeness  of  his  mother,  was  playing  tennis  with 
distinction,  ignoring  young  lHorace,  his  partner,  stand- 
ing well  up  to  the  net  and  repeating  the  alternate 
smashing  and  sliding  strokes  that  kept  Ralph  and 
Barbara  bounding  from  one  end  of  the  court  to  the 
other.  Mrs.  Levitt  was  trying  to  reconcile  the  pro- 
ficiency of  Toby's  play  with  his  immunity  from  con- 
scription in  the  late  war.  The  war  led  straight  to 
Major  Markham's  battery,  and  Major  Markham's  bat- 
tery to  the  battery  once  commanded  by  Toby's  father, 
which  led  to  Poona  and  the  great  discovery. 

"You  don't  mean  Frank  Levitt,  captain  in  the 
gunners  ?" 

"I  do." 

"Was  he  by  any  chance  stationed  at  Poona  in  nine- 
teen-ten,   eleven  ?" 

"He  was." 


MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  149 

"But,  bless  my  soul — he  was  my  brotber-in-law  Dick 
— Dick  Benbam's  best  friend." 

Tbe  Major's  sligbtly  ironical  homage  had  ^iven  place 
to  a  serious  excitement,  a  respectful  interest. 

"Oh— Dicky  Benham— is  he ?" 

"Rather.  I've  heard  him  talk  about  Frank  Levitt 
scores  of  times.  Do  you  hear  that,  Waddington? 
Mrs.  Levitt  knows  all  my  sister's  people.  Why  on  earth 
haven't  we  met  before?" 

Mr,  Waddington  writhed,  while  between  them  they 
reeled  off  a  long  series  of  names,  people  and  places, 
each  a  link  joining  up  Major  Markham  and  Mrs. 
Levitt.  The  Major  was  so  excited  about  it  that  he  went 
round  the  garden  telling  Thurston  and  Hawtrey  and 
Corbett,  so  that  presently  all  these  gentlemen  formed 
round  Mrs.  Levitt  an  interested  and  animated  group. 
Mr.  Waddington  hovered  miserably  on  the  edge  of  it; 
short  of  thrusting  Markham  aside  with  his  elbov/ 
(Markham  for  choice)  he  couldn't  have  broken  through. 
He  would  give  it  up  and  go  away,  and  be  drawn  back 
again  and  again ;  but  though  Mrs.  Levitt  could  see  him 
plainly,  no  summons  from  her  beautiful  eyes  invited 
his  approach. 

His  behaviour  became  noticeable.  It  was  observed 
chiefly  by  his  son  Horry. 


150  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

Horry  took  Barbara  apart.  "I  say,  have  you  seen 
my  guv'nor?" 

"No.     What?    Where?" 

She  could  see  by  his  face  that  he  was  drawing  her 
into  some  iniquitous,  secret  by-path  of  diversion. 

"There,  just  behind  you.  Turn  round — this  way — 
but  don't  look  as  if  you'd  spotted  him.  .  .  .  Did  you 
ever  see  anything  like  him  ?  He's  like  a  Newfoundland 
dog  trying  to  look  over  a  gate.  It  wouldn't  be  half 
so  funny  if  he  wasn't  so  dignified  all  the  time." 

She  didn't  approve  of  Horry.  He  wasn't  decent. 
But  the  dignity — it  was  wonderful. 

Horry  went  on.  "What  on  earth  did  the  mater  ask 
that  woman  for?  She  might  have  known  he'd  make  a 
fool  of  himself." 

"Oh,  Horry,  you  mustn't.  It's  awful  of  you.  You 
really  are  a  little  beast." 

"I'm  not.  Fancy  doing  it  at  his  own  garden  party. 
He  never  thinks  of  us.  Look  at  the  dear  little  mater, 
there,  pretending  she  doesn't  see  him.  That's  what 
makes  me  mad,  Barbara." 

"Well,  you  ought  to  pretend  you  don't  see  it,  too." 

"I've  been  pretending  the  whole  blessed  afternoon. 
But  it's  no  good  pretending  with  yoiL  You  jolly  well 
see  everything." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  151 

"I  don't  go  and  draw  other  people's  attention 
to   it." 

"Oh,  come,  how  about  Kalph  ?  You  know  you 
wouldn't  let  him  miss  him." 

"Ralph?  Oh,  Ealph's  different.  I  shouldn't  point 
him  out  to  Lady  Corbett." 

"■'No  more  should  I.  You're  different,  too.  You  and 
Kalph  and  me  are  the  only  people  capable  of  appre- 
ciating him.  Though  I  wouldn't  swear  that  the  mater 
doesn't,  sometimes." 

"Yes.  But  you  go  too  far,  Horry.  You're  cruel  to 
him,  and  we're  not." 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you.  He  isn't  your  father. 
.  .  .  Oh,  Lord,  he's  craning  his  neck  over  Markham's 
shoulder  now.  What  his  face  must  look  like  from  the 
other  side " 

"If  you  found  your  father  drunk  under  a  lilac  bush 
I  believe  you'd  go  and  fetch  me  to  look  at  him." 

"I  would,  if  he  was  as  funny  as  he  is  now.  .  .  . 
But  I  say,  you  know,  I  can't  have  him  going  on  like 
that.  I've  got  to  stop  it,  somehow.  What  would  you  do 
if  you  were  me  ?" 

"Do  ?  I  think  I  should  ask  him  to  go  and  take  Lady 
Corbett  in  to  tea." 

"Good." 


153  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

Horry  strode  up  to  his  father.  "I  say,  pater,  aren't 
you  going  to  take  Lady  Corbett  in  to  tea  ?" 

At  the  sheer  sound  of  his  son's  voice  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton's  dignity  stood  firm.  But  he  went  off  to  find  Lady 
Corbett  all  the  same. 

When  it  was  all  over  the  garden  party  was  pro- 
nounced a  gTeat  success,  and  Mr.  Waddington  was  very 
agreeably  rallied  on  his  discovery,  taxed  with  trying 
to  keep  it  to  himself,  and  warned  that  he  wasn't  going 
to  have  it  all  his  own  way. 

"It's  our  turn  now,"  said  Major  Markham,  "to  have 
a  look  in." 

And  their  turn  was  constantly  coming  round  again; 
they  were  always  looking  in  at  the  White  House.  First, 
Major  Markham  called.  Then  Sir  John  Corbett  of 
Underwoods,  Mr.  Thurston  of  The  Elms,  and  Mr. 
Hawtrey  of  Medlicott  called  and  brought  their  wives. 
These  ladies,  however,  didn't  like  Mrs.  Levitt,  and  they 
were  not  at  home  when  she  returned  their  calls.  Mrs. 
Levitt's  visiting  card  had  its  place  in  three  collections 
and  there  the  matter  ended.  But  Mr.  Thurston  and 
Mr.  Hawtrey  continued  to  call  with  a  delightful  sense  of 
doing  something  that  their  wives  considered  improper. 
Major  Markham — as  a  bachelor  his  movements  were 
more  untrammelled — declared  it  his  ambition  to  "cut 
Waddy  out."  He  was  everlastingly  calling  at  the  White 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  153 

House.  His  fastidious  correctness,  the  correctness  that 
hadn't  "liked  the  look  of  her,"  excused  this  intensive 
culture  of  Mrs.  Levitt  on  the  grounds  that  she  was 
"well  connected" ;  she  knew  all  his  sister's  people. 

And  Mrs.  Levitt  took  good  care  to  let  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  know  of  these  visits,  and  of  her  little  bridge  parties 
in  the  evening.  "Just  Mr.  Thurston  and  Mr.  Hawtrey 
and  Major  Markham  and  me."  He  was  teased  and 
worried  by  his  visions  of  Elise  perpetually  surrounded 
by  Thurston  and  Hawtrey  and  the  Major.  Sup- 
posing— only  supposing  that — driven  by  despair,  of 
course — she  married  that  fellow  Markham?  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life  Mr.  Waddington  experienced 
jealousy.  Elise  had  ceased  to  be  the  subject  of  dreamy, 
doubtful  speculation  and  had  become  the  object  of  an 
uneasy  passion.  He  could  give  her  passion,  if  it  was 
passion  that  she  wanted;  but,  because  of  Fanny,  he 
could  not  give  her  a  position  in  tlic  county,  and  it  was 
just  possible  that  Elise  might  prefer  a  position. 

And  Elise  was  happy,  happy  in  her  communion  with 
Mr.  Thurston  and  Mr.  Hawtrey  and  in  the  thought  that 
their  wives  detested  her;  happy  in  her  increasing  inti- 
macy with  Major  Markham  and  in  her  consciousness  of 
being  well  connected;  above  all,  happy  in  Mr.  Wad- 
dington's  uneasiness. 

Meanwhile  Fanny  Waddington  kept  on  calling.     "If 


154  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

I   don't,"   she  said,    *^tlie   poor   woman  will   be   done 
for." 

She  couldn't  see  any  harm  in  Mrs.  Levitt 


Barbara  and  Ralph  Bevan  had  been  for  one  of  thear 
long  walks.  They  were  coming  back  down  the  Park 
when  they  met,  first,  Henry,  the  gardener's  boy,  carry- 
ing a  basket  of  fat,  golden  pears. 

"Where  are  you  going  with  those  lovely  pears, 
Henry?" 

"Mrs.  Levitt's,  miss."  The  boy  grinned  and 
twinkled ;  you  could  almost  have  fancied  that  he  knew. 

Farther  on,  near  the  white  gate,  they  could  see  Mr. 
Waddington  and  two  ladies.  He  had  evidently  gone 
out  to  open  the  gate,  and  was  walking  on  with  them, 
unable  to  tear  himself  away.  The  ladies  were  Mrs. 
Rickards  and  Mrs.  Levitt. 

They  stopped.  You  could  see  the  flutter  of  their 
hands  and  faces,  suggesting  a  final  triangular  exchange 
of  playfulness. 

Then  Mr.  Waddington,  executing  a  complicated 
movement  of  farewell,  a  bow  and  a  half  turn,  a  gam- 
bolling skip,  the  gesture  of  his  ungovernable  youth. 

Then,  as  he  went  from  them,  the  abandonment  of 
Mrs.  Rickards  and  Mrs.  Levitt  to  disgraceful  laughter. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  155 

Mrs.  Levitt  clutched  her  sister's  arm  and  clung  to 
it,  almost  perceptibly  reeling,  as  if  she  said:  "Hold 
me  up  or  I  shall  collapse.  It's  too  much.  Too — too — 
too — too  much."  They  came  on  with  a  peculiar  rolling, 
helpless  walk,  rocked  by  the  intolerable  explosions  of 
their  mirth,  dabbing  their  mouths  and  eyes  with  their 
pocket-handkerchiefs  in  a  tortured  struggle  for  control. 

They  recovered  sufficiently  to  pass  Ealph  and  Bar- 
bara with  serious,  sidelong  bows.  And  then  there  was 
a  sound,  a  thin,  wheezing,  soaring  yet  stifled  sound,  the 
cry  of  a  conquered  hysteria. 

"Did  you  see  that,  Ealph?" 

"I  did.     I  heard  it." 

"//e  couldn't,  could  he?" 

"Oh,  Lord,  no.  .  .  .  They  appreciate  him,  too,  Bar- 
bara." 

"That  isn't  the  way,"  she  said.  "We  don't  want 
him  appreciated  that  way.     That  rich,  gross  way." 

"No.  It  isn't  nearly  subtle  enough.  Any  fool  could 
see  that  his  caracoling  was  funny.  They  don't  know 
him  as  we  know  him.  They  don't  know  what  he 
really  is." 

"It  was  an  outrage.  It's  like  taking  a  fine  thing 
and  vulgarizing  it.  They'd  no  husmess.  And  it  was 
cruel,  too,  to  laugh  at  him  like  that  before  his  back  was 
turned.     When  they're  going  to  eat  his  pears,  too." 


156  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"The  fact  is,  Barbara,  nobody  does  appreciate  him 
as  you  and  I  do." 

"Horry?" 

"ISTo.  IsTot  Horry.  He  goes  too  far.  Horry's 
indecent.     Fanny,  perhaps,  sometimes." 

"Fanny  doesn't  see  one  half  of  him.  She  doesn't 
see  his  Mrs.  Levitt  side." 

"Have  you  seen  it,  Barbara  ?" 

"Of  course  I  have." 

"You  never  told  me.  It  isn't  fair  to  go  discovering 
things  on  your  own  and  not  telling  me.  We  must  make 
a  compact.  To  tell  each  other  the  very  instant  we  see 
a  thing.  We  might  keep  count  and  give  points  to  which 
of  us  sees  most.  Mrs.  Levitt  ought  to  have  been  a 
hundred  to  your  score." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  score  with  Mrs.  Levitt.  You  saw 
that,  too." 

"It'll  be  a  game  for  gods,  Barbara." 

"But,  Ralph,  there  might  be  things  we  couldn't  tell 
each  other.    It  mightn't  be  fair  to  him." 

"Telling  each  other  isn't  like  telling  other  people. 
Hang  it  all,  if  we're  making  a  study  of  him  we're 
making  a  study.  Science  is  science.  We've  no  right 
to  suppress  anything.  At  any  moment  one  of  us  might 
see  something  absolutely  vital." 

"Whatever  we  do  we  musn't  be  unfair  to  him." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  157 

"But  he's  ours,  isn't  he?  "We  can't  be  unfair  to  him. 
And  we've  got  to  be  fair  to  each  other.  Think  of  the 
frightful  advantage  you  might  have  over  me.  You're 
bound  to  see  more  things  than  I  do." 

"I  might  see  more,  but  you'll  understand  more." 

''Well,  then,  you  can't  do  without  me.  It's  a  com- 
pact, isn't  it,  that  we  don't  keep  things  back  ?" 

As  for  Mrs.  Levitt's  handling  of  their  theme  thej 
resented  it  as  an  abominable  profanation. 

"Do  you  think  he's  in  love  with  her  ?"  Barbara  said. 

"What  he  would  call  being  in  love  and  we  shouldn't." 

"Do  you  think  he's  like  that — he's  always  been  like 
that?" 

"I  think  he  was  probably  'like  that'  when  he  was 
young." 

"Before  he  married  Fanny?" 

"Before  he  married  Fanny." 

"And  after?" 

"After,  I  should  imagine  he  went  pretty  straight. 
Tt  was  only  the  way  he  had  when  he  was  young,  l^ow 
he's  middle-aged  he's  gone  back  to  it,  just  to  prove  to 
himself  that  he's  young  still.  I  take  it  the  poor  old 
thing  got  scared  when  he  found  himself  past  fifty,  and 
he  liad  to  start  a  proof.  It's  his  egoism  all  over  again. 
I  don't  suppose  he  really  cares  a  rap  for  Mrs.  Levitt." 


158  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

"You  don't  think  his  heart  beats  faster  when  he  sees 
her  coming?" 

"I  don't.  Horatio's  heart  beats  faster  when  he  sees 
himself  making  love  to  her." 

"I  see.    It's  just  middle  age." 

"Just  middle  age." 

"Don't  you  think,  perhaps,  Fanny  does  see  it?" 

"No.    Not  that.    Not  that.    At  least  I  hope  not." 


X 

1 

Me.  Waddington's  Ramhlings  Through  the  Cots- 
wolds  were  to  be  profusely  illustrated.  The  ques- 
tion was:  photographs  or  original  drawings?  And  he 
had  decided,  aftor  much  consideration,  on  photographs 
taken  by  Pyecraft's  man.  For  a  book  of  such  capital 
importance  the  work  of  an  inferior  or  obscure  illus- 
trator was  not  to  be  thought  of  for  an  instant.  But 
there  were  giave  disadvantages  in  employing  a  dis- 
tinguished artist.  It  would  entail  not  only  heavy 
expenses,  but  a  disastrous  rivalry.  The  illustrations, 
so  far  from  drawing  attention  to  the  text  and  fixing  it 
firmly  there,  would  inevitably  distract  it.  And  the 
artist's  celebrated  name  would  have  to  figure  conspicu- 
ously, in  exact  proportion  to  his  celebrity,  on  the  title 
page  and  in  all  the  reviews  and  advertisements  where, 
properly  speaking,  Horatio  Bysshe  Waddington  should 
stand  alone.  It  was  even  possible,  as  Fanny  very  intel- 
ligently pointed  out,  that  a  sufficiently  distinguished 
illustrator  might  succeed  in  capturing  the  enthusiasm 

of  the  critics  to  the  utter  extinction  of  the  author,  who 

159 


160  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

might  consider  himself  lucky  if  he  was  mentioned  at 
all. 

But  Fanny  had  sho\vn  rather  less  intelligence  in  using 
this  argument  to  support  her  suggestion  that  Barbara 
Madden  should  illustrate  the  book.  She  had  more  than 
once  come  upon  the  child,  sitting  on  a  camp-stool  above 
Mrs.  Levitt's  house,  making  a  sketch  of  the  steep  street, 
all  cream  white  and  pink  and  grey,  opening  out  on  to 
the  many-coloured  fields  and  the  blue  eastern  air.  And 
she  had  conceived  a  preposterous  admiration  for  Bar- 
bara Madden's  work. 

"It'll  be  an  enchanting  book  if  she  illustrates  it, 
Horatio." 

"If  she  illustrates  it !" 

But  when  he  tried  to  show  Fanny  the  absurdity  of 
the  idea — Horatio  Bysshe  Waddington  illustrated  by 
Barbara  Madden — she  laughed  in  his  face  and  told  him 
he  was  a  conceited  old  thing.  To  which  he  replied, 
with  dignified  self-restraint,  that  he  was  writing  a  seri- 
ous and  important  book.  It  would  be  foolish  to  pretend 
that  it  was  not  serious  and  important.  He  hoped  he 
had  no  overweening  opinion  of  its  merits,  but  one  must 
preserve  some  sense  of  proportion  and  propriety — some 
sanitv. 

"Poor  little  Barbara!" 

"It  isn't  poor  little  Barbara's  book,  my  dear.' 


» 


MB.  WADDIXGTOX  OF  WYCK  161 

"^"0,"  said  Fanny.     ''It  isn't." 

Meanwhile,  if  the  book  was  to  be  ready  for  publica- 
tion in  the  spring,  the  photogTaphs  would  have  to  be 
taken  at  once,  before  the  light  and  the  leaves  were  gone. 

So  Pyecraft  and  Pyecraft's  man  came  with  their 
best  camera,  and  photographed  and  photogi'aphed,  as 
long  as  the  fine  weather  lasted.  They  photographed 
the  Market  Square,  Wyck-on-the-IIill ;  they  photo- 
graphed the  church ;  they  photographed  Lower  Wyck 
village  and  the  Manor  House,  the  residence — corrected 
to  seat — of  Mr.  Horatio  Bysshe  Waddington,  the 
author.  They  photographed  the  Tudor  porch,  showing 
the  figures  of  the  author  and  of  Mrs.  Waddington,  his 
wife,  and  Miss  Barbara  Madden,  his  secretary.  They 
photogi-aphed  the  author  sitting  in  his  garden;  they 
photographed  him  in  his  park,  mounted  on  his  mare, 
Speedwell;  and  they  photogTaphed  him  in  his  motor- 
car. Then  they  came  in  and  looked  at  the  library  and 
photographed  that,  with  Mr.  "Waddington  sitting  in  it 
at  his  writing-table. 

"I  suppose,  sir,"  Mr.  Pyecraft  said,  "you'd  wish  it 
taken  from  one  end  to  show  the  proportions  ?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Waddington. 

And  when  Pyecraft  came  the  next  day  with  the 
proofs  he  said,  "I  think,  sir,  we've  got  the  proportions 
very  well." 


162  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

Mr.  Waddington  stared  at  the  proofs,  holding  them 
in  a  hand  that  trembled  slightly  with  emotion.  With 
a  just  annoyance.  For  though  Pyecraft  had  certainly 
got  the  proportions  of  the  library,  Mr.  Waddington's 
head  was  reduced  to  a  mere  black  spot  in  the  far  comer. 

If  that  was  what  Pyecraft  meant  by  proportion 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "the — er — the  figure  is  not  quite 
satisfactory." 

"The ?     I  see,  sir.     I  did  not  understand,  sir, 

that  you  wished  the  figure." 

"We^ell "     Mr.  Waddington  didn't  like  to  appear 

as  having  wished  the  figure  so  ardently  as  he  did  indeed 
wish  it.    "If  I'm  to  be  there  at  all " 

"Quite  so,  sir.  But  if  you  wish  the  size  of  the  library 
to  be  shown,  I  am  afraid  the  figure  must  be  sacrificed. 
We  can't  do  you  it  both  ways.  But  how  would  you  think, 
sir,  of  being  photographed  yourself,  somewhat  larger, 
seated  at  your  writing-table  ?    We  could  do  you  that." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  it,  Pyecraft." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  thought  of  nothing  else. 
He  had  the  title  of  the  picture  in  his  mind:  "The 
Author  at  Work  in  the  Library,  Lower  Wyck  Manor." 

Pyecraft  waited  in  deference  to  Mr.  Waddington's 
hesitation.  His  man,  less  delicate  but  more  discerning, 
was  already  preparing  to  adjust  the  camera. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  163 

Mr.  Waddington  turned,  like  a  man  torn  between 
personal  distaste  and  public  duty,  to  Barbara. 

"What  do  you  think,  Miss  Madden  ?" 

"I  think  the  book  would  hardly  be  complete  without 
you." 

"Very  well.  You  hear,  Pyecraft,  Miss  Madden 
says  I  am  to  be  photographed." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

He  wheeled  sportively.     "ITow  how  am  I  to  sit?" 

"If  you  would  set  yourself  so,  sir.  With  your  papers 
before  you,  spread  careless,  so.  And  your  pen  in  your 
hand,  so.  ...  A  little  nearer,  Bateman.  The  figure 
is  important  this  time.  .  .  .  Now,  sir,  if  you  would  be 
so  good  as  to  look  up." 

Mr.  Waddington  looked  up  with  a  face  of  such 
extraordinary  solemnity  that  Mr.  Pyecraft  smiled  in 
spite  of  his  deference. 

"A  leetle  brighter  expression.  As  if  you  had  just 
got  an  idea." 

Mr.  Waddington  imagined  himself  getting  an  idea 
and  tried  to  look  like  it. 

"Perfect — perfect."  Mr.  Pyecraft  almost  danced 
with  excitement  "Keep  that  look  on  your  face,  sir, 
half  a  moment.  .  .  .  Now,  Bateman." 

A  click. 

"TTiat's  over,  thank  goodness,"  said  Mr.  Wadding- 


1G4  MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK 

ton,  reluctant  victim  of  Pyecraft's  and  Barbara's  im- 
portunity. 

After  that  Mr.  Pyecraft  and  his  man  were  driven 
about  the  country  taking  photographs.  In  one  of  them 
Mr.  Waddington  appeared  standing  outside  the  mediae- 
val Market  Hall  of  Chipping  Kingdon.  In  another, 
wearing  fishing  boots,  and  holding  a  fishing-rod  in  his 
hand,  he  waded  knee  deep  in  the  trout  stream  between 
Upper  and  Lower  Speed. 

And  after  that  he  said  fiimly,  "I  will  not  be  photo- 
graphed any  more.     They've  got  enough  of  me." 

2 

In  November,  when  the  photographing  was  done, 
Fanny  went  away  to  London  for  a  fortnight,  leaving 
Barbara,  as  she  said,  to  take  care  of  Horatio,  and 
Palph  Bevan  to  take  care  of  Barbara. 

It  was  then,  in  consequence  of  letters  he  received 
from  Mrs.  Levitt,  that  Mr.  Waddington's  visits  in 
Sheep  Street  became  noticeably  frequent.  Barbara, 
sitting  on  her  camp-stool  above  the  White  House,  noticed 
them. 

She  noticed,  too,  the  singular  abstraction  of  Mr. 
AVaddington's  manner  in  these  days.  There  were  even 
moments  when  he  ceased  to  take  any  interest  in  his 
Kamblings,    and    left    Barbara  -to    continue   them,    as 


MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  165 

Ralph  had  continued  them,  alone,  reserving  to  himself 
the  authority  of  supervision.  She  had  long  stretches 
of  time  to  herself,  when  she  had  reason  to  suspect 
that  Mr.  Waddington  was  driving  Mrs.  Leavitt  to 
Cheltenham  or  Stratford-on-Avon  in  his  car,  while 
Ralph  Bovan  obeyed  Fanny's  parting  charge  to  look 
after  Barbara. 

Every  time  Barbara  did  a  piece  of  the  Ramblings 
she  showed  it  to  Ralph  Bevan.  They  would  ride  off 
together  into  the  open  country,  and  Barbara  would  read 
aloud  to  Ralph,  sitting  by  the  roadside  where  they 
lunched,  or  in  some  inn  parlour  where  they  had  tea. 
They  had  decided  that,  though  it  would  be  dishonour- 
able of  Barbara  to  show  him  the  bits  that  Mr.  Wad- 
dington had  written,  there  could  be  no  earthly  harm  in 
trusting  him  with  the  bits  she  had  done  herself. 

Not  that  you  could  tell  the  difference.  Barbara  had 
worked  hard,  knowing  that  the  sooner  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton's  book  was  finished  the  sooner  Ralph's  book  would 
come  out;  and  under  this  agreeable  stimulus  she  had 
developed  into  the  perfect  parodist  of  Waddington. 
She  had  wallowed  in  Waddington's  style  till  she  was 
saturated  with  it  and  wrote  automatically  about  "bold 
escarpments"  and  "the  rosy  flush  on  the  high  forehead 
of  Cleeve  Cloud";  about  "ivy-mantled  houses  resting 
in  the  shade  of  immemorial  elms";  about  the  vale  of 


166  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

the  Windlode,  "awash  with  the  golden  light  of  even," 
and  "grey  villages  nestling  in  the  beech-clad  hollows  of 
the  hills." 

"  'Come  with  me,'  "  said  Barbara,  "  'into  the  little 
sheltered  valley  of  the  Speed;  let  us  follow  the  brown 
trout  stream  that  goes  purling '  " 

"Barbara,  it's  priceless.  What  made  you  think  of 
purling  ?" 

"He'd  have  thought  of  it.  'Purling  through  the  lush 
green  grass  of  the  meadows.'  " 

Or,  "  'Let  us  away  along  the  great  high  road  that 
runs  across  the  uplands  that  divide  the  valleys  of  the 
Windlode  and  the  Thames.  Let  us  rest  a  moment  half- 
way and  drink — no,  quaff — a  mug  of  good  Gloucester- 
shire ale  with  mine  host  of  the  Merry  Mouth.'  " 

Not  that  Mr.  Waddington  had  ever  done  such  a 
thing  in  his  life.  But  all  the  other  ramblers  through 
the  Cotswolds  did  it,  or  said  they  did  it;  and  he  was 
saturated  with  their  spirit,  as  Barbara  was  saturated 
with  his.  He  could  see  them,  robust  and  genial  young 
men  in  tweed  knickerbocker  suits,  tramping  their  thirty 
miles  a  day  and  quaffing  mugs  of  ale  in  every  tavern; 
and  he  desired  to  present  himself,  like  those  young  men, 
as  genial  and  robust.  He  couldn't  get  away  from  them 
and  their  books  any  more  than  he  had  got  away  from 
Sir  Maurice  Gedge  and  his  prospectus. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  167 

And  Barbara  had  invented  all  sorts  of  robust  and 
genial  things  for  him  to  do.  She  dressed  him  in  pink, 
and  mounted  him  on  his  mare  Speedwell,  and  sent  him 
flying  over  the  stone  walls  and  five-barred  gates  to  the 
baying  of  "Ranter  and  Ranger  and  Bellman  and  True." 
He  fished  and  he  tramped  and  ho  quaffed  and  he 
tramped  again.  He  did  his  thirty  miles  a  day  easily. 
She  set  down  long  conversations  between  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  and  old  Billy,  the  Cotswold  shepherd,  all  about  the 
good  old  Cotswold  ways,  in  the  good  old  days  when  the 
good  old  Squire,  Mr.  Waddinglon's  father — no,  his 
grandfather — was  alive. 

"  '1  do  call  to  mind,  zur,  what  old  Squire  did  use  to 
zay  to  me:  "Billy,"  'e  zays,  "your  grandchildren  won't 
be  fed,  nor  they  won't  'ave  the  cottages,  nor  yet  the 
clothes  as  you  'ave  and  your  children.  As  zure  as  God's 
in  Gloucester"  'e  zays.  They  was  rare  old  times,  zur, 
and  they  bo  gawn.'  " 

"What  made  you  think  of  it,  Barbara?  I  don't 
suppose  he  ever  said  two  words  to  old  Billy  in  his 
life." 

"Of  course  he  didn't.  But  it's  the  sort  of  thing  he'd 
like  to  think  he  did." 

"Has  he  passed  it  ?" 

"Rather.  He's  as  pleased  as  Punch.  He  thinks  he's 
forming  my  style." 


168  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 


Mr.  Waddington  was  rapidly  acquiring  the  habit  of 
going  round  to  Sheep  Street  after  dinner.  But  in  those 
evenings  that  he  did  not  devote  to  Mrs.  Levitt  he  applied 
himself  to  his  task  of  supervision. 

On  the  whole  he  was  delighted  with  his  secretary. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  little  thing  was  deeply 
attached  to  him.  You  could  tell  that  by  the  way  she 
worked,  by  her  ardour  and  eagerness  to  please  him. 
There  could  be  onl^^  one  explanation  of  the  ease  with 
which  she  had  received  the  stamp  of  his  personality. 

Therefore  he  used  tact.     He  used  tact. 

"I'm  giving  you  a  great  deal  of  work,  Barbara,"  he 
would  say.  "But  you  must  look  on  it  as  part  of  your 
training.  You're  learning  to  write  good  English. 
There's  nothing  like  clear,  easy,  flowing  sentences.  Y^ou 
can't  have  literature  without  'em.  I  might  have  writ- 
ten those  passages  myself.  In  fact,  I  can  hardly  dis- 
tinguish  "    His  face  shook  over  it;  she  noticed  the 

tremor  of  imminent  revision.  "Still,  I  think  I  should 
prefer  babbling  streams'  here  to  'purling  streams.' 
Shakrapearean. " 

"1  had  'babbling'  first,"  said  Barbara,  "but  I  thought 
'purling'  would  be  nearer  to  what  you'd  have  written 


ME.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  ICD 

yourself.  I  forgot  about  Slialcespeare.  And  babbling 
isn't  exactly  purling,  is  it  ?" 

"True — true.  Babbling  is  rwl  purling.  We  want 
the  exact  word.     Purling  let  it  be.  .  .  . 

''And  'lush.'  Good  girl.  You  remembered  that 
'lush'  was  one  of  my  words  ?" 

"I  thought  it  would  be." 

"Good.  Y"ou  see,"  said  Mr.  Wadding-ton,  "how  you 
learn.  You're  getting  the  sense,  the  flair  for  style.  I 
shall  always  be  glad  to  think  I  trained  you,  Barbara. 
.  .  .  And  you  may  be  very  thankful  it  is  I  and  not 
Ralph  Bevan.  Of  all  the  jerky — eccentric — inco- 
herent  " 


XI 


It  was  Monday,  the  twenty-fourth  day  of  ISTovember, 
in  the  last  week  of  Fanny's  fortnight  in  London. 

Barbara  had  been  busy  all  morning  with  Mr.  Wad- 
dington's  correspondence  and  accounts.  And  now,  for 
the  first  time,  she  found  herself  definitely  on  the  track 
of  Mrs.  Levitt.  In  checking  Palmer  and  Hoskins's, 
the  Cheltenham  builders,  bill  for  the  White  House  she 
had  come  across  two  substantial  items  not  included  in 
their  original  estimate:  no  less  than  fifteen  by  eight 
feet  of  trellis  for  the  garden  and  a  hot  water  pipe  rail 
for  the  bathroom.  It  turned  out  that  Mrs.  Levitt, 
desiring  the  comfort  of  hot  towels,  and  objecting  to  the 
view  of  the  kitchen  yard  as  seen  from  the  lawn,  had 
incontinently  ordered  the  hot  water  rail  and  the  trellis. 

There  was  that  letter  from  Messrs.  Jackson  and 
Cleaver,  Mr.  Waddington's  agents,  informing  him  that 
his  tenant,  Mrs.  Levitt,  of  the  White  House,  Wyck-on- 
the-Hill,  had  not  yet  paid  her  rent  due  on  the  twenty- 
fifth  of  September.     Did  Mr.  Waddington  wish  them 

to  apply  again? 

170 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  171 

And  there  were  other  letters  of  which  Barbara  was 
requested  to  make  copies  from  his  dictation.     Thus: 

"My  dear  Mks.  Levitt"  (only  he  had  written  "My 
dear  Elise"), — "With  reference  to  your  investments  I 
do  not  recommend  the  purchase,  at  the  present  moment, 
of  Government  Housing  Bonds. 

"I  shall  bo  very  glad  to  loan  you  the  fifty  pounds  you 
require  to  make  up  the  five  hundred  for  the  purchase 
of  Parson's  Provincial  and  London  Bank  Shares.  But 
I  am  afraid  I  cannot  definitely  promise  an  advance  of 
five  hundred  on  the  securities  you  name.  That  promise 
was  conditional,  and  you  must  give  me  a  little  time  to 
consider  the  matter.  Meanwhile  I  will  make  inquiries ; 
but,  speaking  off-hand,  I  should  say  that,  owing  to  the 
present  general  depreciation  of  stock,  it  would  be  highly 
unadvisable  for  you  to  sell  out,  and  my  advice  to  you 
would  be :  Hold  on  to  everything  you've  got. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  are  pleased  with  your  little 
house.  We  will  let  the  matter  of  the  rent  stand  over  till 
your  afPairs  are  rather  more  in  order  than  they  are  at 
present. — With  kindest  regards,  very  sincerely  yours, 

"HoEATio  Bysshe  Waddington. 

"P.S. — I  have  settled  with  Palmer  and  Hoskins  for 
the  trellis  and  hot  water  rail." 


172  Ml?.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"To  Messrs.    Lawson   &   Rutherford,    Solicitors, 

"9,  Bedford  Row,  London,  W.C. 
^'Dear  Sirs, — Will  you  kindly  advise  me  as  to  the 
current  value  of  the  following  shares — namely : 

"Fifty  £5  5  per  cent.  New  South  American  Rubber 

Syndicate ; 
"Fifty  £10  10  per  cent.  B  Preference  Addison  Rail- 
way, Nicaragua; 
"One  hundred  £1  4  per  cent.  Welbeck  Mutual  As- 
surance Society. 
"Would  you  recommend  the  holder  to  sell   out  at 
present  prices?    And  should  I  be  justified  in  accepting 
these  shares  as  security  for  an  immediate  loan  of  five 
hundred  ? — Faithfully  yours, 

"Horatio  Byssiie  Waddington." 


He  was  expecting  Elise  for  tea  at  four  o'clock  on 
Wednesdav,  and  Messrs.  Lawson  and  Rutherford's 
reply  reached  him  very  opportunely  that  afternoon. 


"Dear  Sir, — Re  your  inquiry  in  your  letter  of  the 
twenty-fifth  instant,  as  to  tlio  current  value  of  5  per 
cent.  New  South  American  Rubber  Syndicate  Shares, 
10  per  cent  B  Preference  Addison  Railway,  and  4  per 
cent.  Welbeck  Mutual  Assurance  Society,  respectively, 
we  beg  to  inform  you  that  these  stocks  are  seriously 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  173 

depreciated,  and  we  doubt  whether  at  the  present 
moment  the  holder  would  find  a  purchaser.  We  cer- 
tainly cannot  advise  you  to  accept  them  as  security  for 
the  sum  you  name. — We  are,  faithfully, 

"LaWSON  &  RUTHEEFOED." 

It  was  clear  that  poor  Elise — who  could  never  have 
had  any  head  for  business — was  deceived  as  to  the  value 
of  her  securities.  It  might  even  be  that  with  regard 
to  all  three  of  them  she  might  have  to  cut  her  losses 
and  estimate  her  income  minus  the  dividends  accruing 
from  this  source.  But  that  only  made  it  the  more 
imperative  that  she  should  have  at  least  a  thousand 
pounds  tucked  snugly  aAvay  in  some  safe  investment. 
Nothing  short  of  the  addition  of  fifty  pounds  to  her 
yearly  income  would  enable  Elise  to  pay  her  way.  The 
dear  woman's  affairs  ought  to  stand  on  a  sound  financial 
basis ;  and  Mr.  Wadding-ton  asked  himself  this  question : 
Was  he  prepared  to  put  them  there?  All  that  Elise 
could  offer  him,  failing  her  depreciated  securities,  was 
the  reversion  of  a  legacy  of  five  hundred  pounds  prom- 
ised to  her  in  her  aunt's  will.  She  had  spoken  very 
hopefully  of  this  legacy.  Was  he  prepared  to  fork  out 
a  whole  five  hundred  pounds  on  the  offchance  of  Elise's 
aunt  dying  wiUiin  a  reasonable  time  and  making  no 
alteration  in  her  will  ?    In  a  certain  contingency  he  was 


174  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

prepared.  He  was  prepared  to  do  all  that  and  more  for 
Elise.  But  it  was  not  possible,  it  was  not  decent  to 
state  his  conditions  to  Elise  beforehand,  and  in  any  case 
Mr.  Waddington  did  not  state  them  openly  ds  condi- 
tions to  himself.  He  allowed  his  mind  to  be  muzzy  on 
this  point.  He  had  no  doubt  whatever  about  his  pas- 
sion, but  he  preferred  to  contemplate  the  possibility  of 
its  satisfaction  through  a  decent  veil  of  muzziness. 
When  he  said  to  himself  that  ho  would  like  to  know 
where  he  stood  before  committing  himself,  it  was  as 
near  as  he  could  get  to  clarity  and  candour. 

And  when  he  wrote  to  Elise  that  his  promise  was 
conditional  he  really  did  mean  that  the  loan  would 
depend  on  the  value  of  the  securities  offered;  a  condi- 
tion that  his  integrity  could  face,  a  condition  that,  as 
things  stood,  he  had  a  perfect  right  to  make.  While, 
all  the  time,  deep  inside  him  was  the  knowledge  that, 
if  Elise  gave  herself  to  him,  he  would  not  ask  for 
security — he  would  not  make  any  conditions  at  all. 
He  saw  Elise,  tender  and  yielding,  in  his  arms;  he  saw 
himself,  tender  and  powerful,  stooping  over  her,  and 
he  thought,  with  a  qualm  of  disgust:  "I  wouldn't  touch 
her  poor  little  legacy." 

Meanwhile  he  judged  it  well  to  let  the  correspond- 
ence pass,  like  any  other  business  correspondence, 
through  his  secretary's  hands.     It  was  well  to  let  Bar- 


MK.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  175 

bara  see  that  his  relations  with  Mrs.  Levitt  were  on  a 
strictly  business  footing,  that  he  had  nothing  to  hide. 
It  was  well  to  have  copies  of  the  letters.  It  was  well — 
Mr.  Waddington's  instinct,  not  his  reason,  told  him  it 
was  well — to  have  a  trustworthy  witness  to  all  these 
transactions.  A  witness  who  understood  the  precise 
nature  of  his  conditions,  in  the  event,  the  highly 
unlikely  event,  of  trouble  with  Elise  later  on.  (It  was 
almost  as  if,  secretly,  he  had  a  premonition.)  Also, 
when  his  conscience  reproached  him,  as  it  did,  with 
making  conditions,  with  asking  the  dear  woman  for 
security,  he  was  able  to  persuade  himself  that  he  didn't 
really  mean  it,  that  all  this  was  clever  camouflage 
designed  to  turn  Barbara's  suspicions,  if  she  ever  had 
any,  off  the  scent.  And  at  the  same  time  he  was  not 
sorry  that  Barbara  should  see  him  in  his  role  of  gen- 
erous benefactor  and  shrewd  adviser. 

"I  needn't  tell  you,  Barbara,  that  all  this  business  is 
strictly  private.  As  my  confidential  secretary,  you  have 
to  know  a  great  many  things  it  wouldn't  do  to  have 
talked  about.    You  understand  ?" 

"Perfectly." 

She  understood,  too,  that  it  was  an  end  of  the  com- 
pact with  Kalph  Bevan.  She  must  have  foreseen  this 
affair  when  she  said  to  him  there  would  be  things  she 
simply  couldn't   tell.      Only   she  had   supposed   they 


176  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

would  be  things  she  would  see,  reward  of  clear  eyesight, 
not  things  she  would  he  regularly  let  in  for  knowing. 

And  her  clear  eyes  saw  through  the  camouflage. 
She  had  a  suspicion. 

"I  don't  see,"  she  said,  "why  you  should  have  to  go 
without  your  rent  just  because  Mrs.  Levitt  doesn't  want 
to  pay  it." 

She  was  sorry  for  Waddy.  He  might  be  ever  so 
wise  about  Mrs.  Levitt's  affairs;  but  ho  was  a  perfect 
goose  about  his  own.  No  wonder  Fanny  had  asked  her 
to  take  care  of  him. 

"I've  no  doubt,"  he  said,  "she  wards  to  pay  it;  but 
she's  a  war  widow,  Barbara,  and  she's  hard  up.  I  can't 
rush  her  for  the  rent." 

"She's  no  business  to  rush  you  for  trellis  work  and 
water  pipes  you  didn't  order." 

"Well — well,"  he  couldn't  be  angry  with  the  child. 
She  was  so  loyal,  so  careful  of  his  interests.  And  he 
couldn't  expect  her  to  take  kindly  to  Elise.  There 
would  be  a  natural  jealousy.  "That's  Palmer  and  Hos- 
kins's  mistake.  I  can't  haggle  with  a  lady,  Barbara.  No- 
blesse  oblige."    But  he  winced  under  her  clear  eyes. 

She  thought :  "How  about  the  fifty  and  the  five  hun- 
dred? At  this  rate  noblesse  might  oblige  him  to  do 
anything." 

She  could  see  through  Mrs.  Levitt. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  177 

Mr.  Waddington  kept  on  looking  at  the  clock. 

It  was  now  ten  minutes  to  four,  and  at  any  moment 
Elise  might  be  there.  His  one  idea  was  to  get  Barbara 
Madden  out  of  the  way.  Those  clear  eyes  were  not  the 
eyes  he  wanted  to  be  looking  at  Elise,  to  be  looking  at 
him  when  tJieir  eyes  met.  And  he  understood  that  that 
fellow  Bevan  was  going  to  call  for  her  at  four.  He 
didn't  want  hi/m  about.  "Where  are  you  going  for  your 
walk  ?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  anywhere.    Why?" 

"Well,  if  you  happen  to  be  in  Wyck,  would  you  mind 
taking  these  photographs  back  to  Pyecraft  and  showing 
him  the  ones  I've  chosen?  Just  see  that  he  doesn't 
make  any  stupid  mistake." 

The  photographs  were  staring  her  in  the  face  on  the 

writing-table,  so  that  there  was  really  no  excuse  for 

her  forgetting  them,  as  she  did.    But  Mr.  Waddington's 

experience  was  that  if  you  wanted  anything  done  you 

had  to  do  it  yourself. 

2 

Elise  would  be  taken  into  the  drawing-room.  He 
went  to  wait  for  her  there. 

And  as  he  walked  up  and  down,  restless,  listening 
for  the  sound  of  her  feet  on  the  gravel  drive  and  the 
ringing  of  the  bell,  at  each  turn  of  his  steps  he  was 
arrested  by  his  own  portrait.    It  stared  at  him  from  its 


178  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

place  above  Fanny's  writing-table;  handsome,  with  its 
brilliant  black  and  carmine,  it  gave  him  an  uneasy  sense 
of  rivalry,  as  if  he  felt  the  disagreeable  presence  of  a 
younger  man  in  the  room.  He  stared  back  at  it;  he 
stared  at  himself  in  the  great  looking-glass  over  the 
chimneypiece  beside  it. 

He  remembered  Fanny  saying  that  she  liked  the 
iron-grey  of  his  moustache  and  hair;  it  was  more 
becoming  than  all  that  hard,  shiny  black.  Fanny  was 
right.  It  was  more  becoming.  And  his  skin — the  worn 
bloom  of  it,  like  a  delicate  sprinkling  of  powder.  Bet- 
ter, more  refined  than  that  rich,  high  red  of  the  younger 
man  in  the  gilt  frame.  To  be  sure  his  eyes,  blurred 
onyx,  bulged  out  of  creased  pouches ;  but  his  nose — the 
Postlethwaite  nose,  a  very  handsome  feature — lifted 
itself  firmly  above  the  fleshy  sagging  of  the  face.  His 
lips  pouted  in  pride.  He  could  still  console  himself 
with  the  thought  that  mirrors  were  unfaithful;  Elise 
would  see  him  as  he  really  was;  not  that  discoloured 
and  distorted  image.  He  pushed  out  his  great  chest  and 
drew  a  deep,  robust  breath.  At  the  thought  of  Elise 
the  pride,  the  rich,  voluptuous,  youthful  pride  of  life 
mounted.  And  as  he  turned  again  he  saw  Fanny  look- 
ing at  him. 

The  twenty-year-old  Fanny  in  her  girFs  white  frock 
and  blue  sash ;  her  tilted,  Gainsborough  face,  mischiev- 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  179 

ous  and  mocking,  smiled  as  if  she  were  making  fun  of 
him.  His  breath  caught  in  his  chest.  Fanny — Fanny. 
His  wife.  Why  hadn't  his  wife  the  loyalty  and  intelli- 
gence of  Barbara,  the  enthusiasm,  the  seriousness  of 
Elise  ?  He  needn't  have  any  conscientious  scruples  on 
Fanny's  account ;  she  had  driven  him  to  Elise  with  her 
frivolity,  her  eternal  smiling.  Of  course  he  knew  that 
she  cai'ed  for  him,  that  he  had  power  over  her,  that 
there  had  never  been  and  never  would  be  any  other  man 
for  Fanny ;  but  he  couldn't  go  on  with  Fanny's  levity 
for  ever.  He  wanted  something  more ;  something  soimd 
and  solid ;  something  that  Elise  gave  him  and  no  other 
woman.    Any  man  would  want  it. 

And  yet  Fanny's  image  made  him  uneasy,  watching 
him  there,  smiling,  as  if  she  knew  all  about  Elise  and 
smiled,  pretending  not  to  care.  He  didn't  want  Fanny 
to  watch  him  with  Elise.  He  didn't  want  Elise  to  see 
Fanny.  When  he  looked  at  Fanny's  portrait  he  felt 
again  his  old  repugnance  to  their  meeting.  He  didn't 
want  Elise  to  sit  in  the  same  room  with  Fanny,  to  sit  in 
Fanny's  chair.  The  drawing-room  was  Fanny's  room. 
The  red  dahlia  and  powder-blue  parrot  chintz  was 
Fanny's  choice;  every  table,  cabinet  and  chair  was  in 
the  place  that  Fanny  had  chosen  for  it.  The  book,  the 
frivolous  book  she  had  been  reading  before  she  went 


180  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

away,  lay  on  her  little  table.  Fanny  was  Fanny  and 
Elise  was  Elise. 

He  rang  the  bell  and  told  Partridge  to  show  Mrs. 
Levitt  into  the  library  and  to  bring  tea  there.  The 
library  was  his  room.  Hte  could  do  what  he  liked  in  it. 
The  girl  Fanny  laughed  at  him  out  of  the  corners  of  her 
eyes  as  he  went.  Suddenly  he  felt  tender  and  gentle 
to  her,  because  of  Elise. 

When  Elise  came  she  found  him  seated  in  his  arm- 
chair absorbed  in  a  book.  He  rose  in  a  dreamy  attitude, 
as  if  he  were  still  dazed  and  abstracted  with  his  reading. 

Thus,  at  the  very  start,  he  gave  himself  the  advan- 
tage; he  showed  himself  superior  to  Elise.  Intellec- 
tually and  morally  superior. 

"You're  deep  in  it?     I'm  interrupting?"  she  said. 

He  came  down  from  his  height  instantly.  He  was  all 
hers. 

''No.     I  was  only  trying  to  pass  the  time  till  you 


came." 


"I'm  late  then?" 

"Ten  minutes."     He  smiled,  indulgent 

Elise  was  looking  handsomer  than  ever.  The  light 
iNTovember  chill  had  whipped  a  thin  flush  into  her  face. 
He  watched  her  as  she  took  off  her  dark  skunk  furs  and 
her  coat. 

How  delightful  to  watch   a  woman  taking  off  her 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  181 

things,  the  pretty  gestures  of  abandonment;  the  form 
emerging,  slimmer.  That  was  one  of  the  things  you 
thought  and  couldn't  say.  Supposing  he  had  said  it  to 
Elise  ?    Would  she  have  minded  ? 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  she  said. 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  thinking  of  anything?" 

"Your  face.     It  tells  tales." 

"Only  nice  ones  to  you,  my  dear  lady." 

"Ah,  but  you  didn't  tell " 

"Would  you  like  me  to?" 

"Not  if  it's  naughty.     Your  face  looks  naughty." 

He  wheeled,  delighted.  "]!^ow,  how  does  my  face 
look  when  it's  naughty  ?" 

"Oh,  that  ivould  be  telling.  It's  just  as  well  you 
shouldn't  know." 

"Was  it  as  naughty  as  all  that  then  ?'* 

"Yes.     Or  as  nice." 

They  kept  it  up,  lightly,  till  Partridge  and  Annie 
Trinder  came,  tinkling  and  rattling  with  the  tea-things 
outside  the  door.  As  if,  Mr.  Waddington  thought,  they 
meant  to  warn  them. 

"Partridge,"  he  called,  as  the  butler  was  going, 
"Partridge,  if  Sir  John  Corbett  calls  you  can  show  him 
in  here;  but  I'm  not  at  home  to  anybody  else." 

(Clever  idea,  that.) 

"He  isn't  coming,  is  he,  the  tiresome  old  thing?" 


183  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"No.  He  isn't.  If  I  thought  he  was  for  one  minute 
I  wouldn't  be  at  home." 

'Then  why ?" 

"Why  did  I  say  I  would  be?  Because  I  wanted  to 
make  it  safe  for  you,  Elise." 

Thus  tactfully  he  let  it  dawn  on  her  that  he  might 
be  dangerous. 

"We  don't  want  to  be  interrupted,  do  we?"  he  said. 

"mt  by  Sir  John  Corbett." 

He  drew  up  the  big,  padded  sofa  square  before  the 
fire  for  Elise.  All  his  movements  were  unconscious, 
innocent  of  deliberation  and  design.  He  seated  him- 
self top-heavily  behind  the  diminutive  gate-legged  tea- 
table;  the  teapot  and  cups  were  like  dolls'  things  in 
his  gTeat  hands.  She  looked  at  him,  at  his  slow  fingers 
fumbling  with  the  sugar  tongs. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  pour  out  tea  for  you?"  she 
said. 

He  started  visibly.  He  wouldn't  like  it  at  all.  He 
wasn't  going  to  allow  Elise  to  put  herself  into  Fanny's 
place,  pouring  out  tea  for  him  as  if  she  was  his  wife. 
She  wouldn't  have  suggested  it  if  she  had  had  any  tact 
or  any  delicacy. 

"No,"  he  said.  The  "No"  sounded  hard  and  ungra- 
cious. "You  must  really  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of 
waiting  on  you." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  183 

The  sugar  dropped  from  the  tongs ;  he  fumbled  again, 
madly,  and  Elise  smiled.  "Damn  the  tongs,"  he 
thought;  "damn  the  sugar." 

"Take  it  in  your  fingers,  goose,"  she  said. 

Goose !  An  endearment,  a  caress.  It  softened  him. 
His  tenderness  for  Elise  came  back. 

"My  fingers  are  all  thumbs,"  he  said. 

"Your  thumbs,  then.     You  don't  suppose  I  mind?" 

There  was  meaning  in  her  voice,  and  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  conceived  himself  to  be  on  the  verge  of  the  first 
exquisite  intimacies  of  love.  He  left  off  thinking  about 
Fanny.  He  poured  out  tea  and  handed  bread  and 
butter  in  a  happy  dream.  He  ate  and  drank  without 
knowing  what  he  ate  and  drank.  His  whole  conscious- 
ness was  one  muzzy,  heavy  sense  of  the  fullness  and 
nearness  of  Elise.  He  could  feel  his  ears  go  "vroom- 
vroom"  and  his  voice  thicken  as  if  he  were  slightly,  very 
slightly  drunk.  He  wondered  how  Elise  could  go  on 
eating  bread  and  butter. 

He  heard  himself  sigh  when  at  last  he  put  her  cup 
down. 

He  considered  the  position  of  the  tea-table  in  relation 
to  the  sofa.  It  hemmed  in  that  part  of  it  where  he  was 
going  to  sit.  Very  cramping.  He  moved  it  well  back 
and  considered  it  again.  It  now  stood  in  his  direct 
line  of  retreat  from  the  sofa  to  the  armchair.     An 


184  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

obstruction.  If  anybody  were  to  come  in.  He  moved  it 
to  one  side. 

"That's  better,"  he  said.  "ITow  we  can  get  a  clear 
view  of  the  fire.     It  isn't  too  much  for  you,  Elise  ?" 

He  had  persuaded  himself  that  he  had  really  moved 
the  tea-table  because  of  the  fire.  As  yet  he  had  no 
purpose  and  no  plan.  He  didn't  know  what  on  earth 
he  was  going  to  say  to  Elise. 

He  sat  down  beside  her  and  there  was  a  sudden 
hushed  pause.  Elise  had  turned  round  in  her  seat  and 
was  looking  at  him;  her  eyes  were  steady  behind  the 
light  tremor  of  their  lashes,  brilliant  and  profound. 
He  reflected  that  her  one  weak  point,  the  shortness  of 
her  legs,  was  not  noticeable  when  she  was  sitting  down. 
He  also  wondered  how  he  could  ever  have  thought  her 
mouth  hard.  It  moved  with  a  little  tender,  sensitive 
twitch,  like  the  flutter  of  her  eyelids,  and  he  conceived 
that  she  was  drawn  to  him  and  held  trembling  by  his 
fascination. 

She  spoke  first. 

"Mr.  Waddington,  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you 
for  your  kindness  about  the  rent.  But  you  know  it's 
safe,  don't  you  ?" 

"Of  course  I  know  it.  Don't  talk  about  rent.  Don't 
think  about  it." 


MR.  WADDIXGTOX  OF  WYCK  185 

"I  can't  help  it.  I  can't  think  of  anything  else  until 
it's  paid." 

''I'd  rather  you  never  paid  any  rent  at  all  than  that 
you  should  woi-ry  about  it  like  this.  I  didn't  ask  you 
to  come  here  to  talk  business,  Elise." 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  talk  it.     Just  a  little." 

"JsTot  now,"  he  said  firmly.     "I  won't  listen." 

It  sounded  exactly  as  if  he  said  he  wouldn't  listen 
to  any  more  talk  about  rent ;  but  he  thought :  "I  don't 
know  what  I  shall  do  if  she  begins  about  that  five  hun- 
dred. But  she  hardly  can,  after  that.  Anyhow,  I  shall 
decline  to  discuss  it." 

"Tell  me  what  you've  been  doing  with  yourself?" 

"You  can't  do  much  with  yourself  in  Wvck.  I  trot 
about  my  house — ^my  dear  little  house  that  you've  made 
so  nice  for  me.  I  do  my  marketing,  and  I  go  out  to  tea 
with  tho  parson's  wife,  or  the  doctor's  wife,  or  Mrs. 
Bostock,  or  Mrs.  Grainger." 

"I  didn't  know  you  went  to  the  Graingers." 

He  thought  that  was  not  very  loyal  of  Elise. 

"You  must  go  somewhere." 

"Well  ?" 

"And  in  the  evenings  we  play  bridge." 

"Who  plays  bridge  ?" 

"Mr.  Ilawtrey,  or  Mr.  Thurston,  or  young  Hawtrey, 
and  Toby,  and  Major  Markham  and  me." 


186  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Always  Major  Markham?" 

"Well,  he  comes  a  good  deal.     He  likes  coming." 

"Does  he  V 

"Do  you  mind  ?" 

"I  should  mind  very  much  if  I  thought  it  would 
make  any  difference." 

"Any  difference?"  She  frowned  and  blinked  as 
though  she  were  trying  hard  to  see  what  he  meant,  what 
he  possibly  could  mean  by  that.  "Difference  ?"  she  said. 
"To  what?" 

"To  you  and  me." 

"Of  course  it  doesn't.    Not  a  scrap.    How  could  it  ?" 

"N"©.  How  could  it?  I  don't  really  believe  it 
could." 

"But  why  should  it?"  she  persisted. 

"Why,  indeed.  Ours  is  a  wonderful  relation.  A 
unique  relation.  And  I  think  you  want  as  much  as 
I  do  to — to  keep  it  intact." 

"Of  course  I  want  to  keep  it  intact.  I  wouldn't  for 
worlds  let  anjiihing  come  between  us,  certainly  not 
bridge."  She  meditated.  "I  suppose  I  do  play  rather 
a  lot.  There's  nothing  else  to  do,  you  see,  and  you  get 
carried  away." 

"I  hope,  my  dear,  you  don't  play  for  money." 

"Oh,  well,  it  isn't  much  fun  for  the  others  if  we 
don't." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  187 

"You  don't  play  high,  I  hope?" 

"What  do  you  call  high  ?" 

"Well,  breaking  into  pound  notes." 

"Pound  notes!  Penny  points — well,  ten  shillings  is 
the  very  highest  stake  when  we're  reckless  and  going  it. 
Besides,  I  always  play  against  Markham  and  Hawtrey, 
because  I  know  they  won't  be  hard  on  me  if  I  lose," 

"Now,  that's  what  I  don't  like.  I'd  a  thousand  times 
rather  pay  your  gambling  debts  than  have  you  putting 
yourself  under  an  obligation  to  those  men." 

He  couldn't  bear  it.  He  couldn't  bear  to  think  that 
Elise  could  bear  it. 

"You  should  have  come  to  me,"  he  said. 

"I  have  come  to  you,  haven't  I?"  She  thought  of 
the  five  hundred  pounds. 

He  thought  of  them  too.  "Ah,  that's  different.  Now, 
about  these  debts  to  Markham  and  Hawtrey.  How 
much  do  they  come  to — about  ?" 

"Oh,  a  five-pound  note  would  cover  all  of  it.  But 
I  shall  only  be  in  debt  to  you." 

"We'll  say  nothing  about  that.  If  I  pay  it,  Elise, 
will  you  promise  me  you'll  never  play  higher  than 
penny  points  again?" 

"It's  too  angelic  of  you,  really." 

He  smiled.  He  liked  paying  her  gambling  debts. 
He  liked  the  power  it  gave  him  over  her.     He  liked 


188  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

to  think  tliat  he  could  make  her  promise.  He  liked 
to  be  told  he  was  angelic.  It  was  all  very  cheap  at  five 
pounds,  and  it  would  enable  him  to  refuse  the  five 
hundred  with  a  better  grace. 

"Come,  on  your  word  of  honour,  only  penny  points." 

''On  my  word  of  honour.  .  .  .  But,  oh,  I  don't  think 
I  can  take  it." 

She  thought  of  the  five  hundred.  When  you  wanted 
five  hundred  it  was  pretty  rotten  to  be  put  off  with  a 
fiver. 

"If  you  can  take  it  from  Hawtrey  and  Mark- 
ham " 

"That's  it  I  can't  take  it  from  Markham.  I  haven't 
done  that.     I  can't  do  it." 

"Well,  Hawtrey  then." 

"Hawtrey's  different." 

"Why  is  he  different?" 

A  faint  suspicion,  relating  to  Markham,  troubled 
him,  and  not  for  the  first  time. 

"Well,  you  see,  he's  a  middle-aged  married  man. 
He  might  be  my  uncle." 

He  thought:  "And  Markham — he  might  be " 

But  Elise  was  not  in  love  with  the  fellow.  !N'o,  no. 
He  was  sure  of  Elise;  he  knew  the  symptoms;  you 
couldn't  mistake  them.  But  she  might  marry  Markham, 
all  the  same.     Out  of  boredom,  out  of  uncertainty,  out 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  189 

of  desperation.  He  was  not  going  to  let  that  happen; 
he  would  make  it  impossible;  he  would  give  Elise  the 
certainty  she  wanted  now. 

"You  said  /  was  different." 

Playful  reproach.     But  she  would  understand. 

"So  you  are.  You're  a  married  man,  too,  aren't 
you?" 

"I  thought  we'd  agreed  to  forget  it." 

"Forget  it?     Forget  Mrs.  Waddington?" 

"Yes,  forget  her.  You  knew  me  long  before  you 
knew  Fanny.  What  has  she  got  to  do  with  you  and 
me?" 

"Just  this,  that  she's  the  only  woman  in  the  county 
who'll  know  me/' 

"Because  you're  my  friend,  Elise." 

"You  needn't  remind  me.  I'm  not  likely  to  forget 
that  any  good  thing  that's  come  to  me  hei*e  has  come 
through  you." 

"I  don't  want  anything  but  good  to  come  to  you 
through  me." 

He  leaned  forward. 

"You're  not  very  happy  in  Wyck,  are  you?" 

"Happy?  Oh,  yes.  But  it's  not  what  you'd  call 
wildly  exciting.  And  Toby's  worrying  me.  He  says 
he  can't  stand  it,  and  he  wants  to  emigrate." 

"Well,  why  not?" 


190  MR.  WADDIXGTON  OF  WYCK 

Mr.  Waddington's  heart  gave  a  great  thump  of  hope. 
He  saw  it  all  clearly.  Toby  was  the  great  obstruction. 
Elise  might  have  held  out  for  ever  as  long  as  Toby 

lived  with  her.     But  if  Toby  went She  saw  it 

too ;  that  was  why  she  consented  to  his  going. 

"It  isn't  much  of  a  job  for  him,  Bostock's  Bank." 

"!N'-no/'  she  assented,  "n-no.  I've  told  him  he  can 
go  if  he  can  get  anything." 

He  played,  stroking  the  long  tails  of  her  fur.  It  lay 
between  them  like  a  soft,  supine  animal. 

"Would  you  like  to  live  in  Cheltenham,  Elise?" 

"Cheltenham?" 

"If  I  took  a  little  house  for  you  ?" 

(He  had  calculated  that  he  might  just  as  well  lose 
his  rent  in  Cheltenham  as  in  Wyck.  Better.  Besides, 
he  needn't  lose  it.  He  could  let  the  White  House.  It 
would  partly  pay  for  Cheltenham.) 

"One  of  those  little  houses  in  Montpelier  Place?" 

"It's  too  sweet  of  you  to  think  of  it."  She  began 
playing  too,  stroking  the  fur  animal ;  their  hands  played 
together  over  the  sleek  softness,  consciously,  shyly, 
without  touching. 

"But— why  Cheltenham  ?" 

"Cheltenham  isn't  Wyck." 

"ISTo.    But  it's  just  as  dull  and  stuffy.     Stuffier." 

"Beautiful  little  town,  Elise." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  191 

"What's  the  good  of  that  when  it's  crammed  full  of 
school  children  and  school  teachers,  and  decayed  army 
people  and  old  maids?  I  don't  Icnow  anybody  in 
Cheltenham." 

''Can't  you  see  that  that  would  be  the  advantage?" 

"No.  I  can't  see  it.  There's  only  one  place  I  want 
to  live  in." 

"And  that  is ?" 

"London.    And  I  can't." 

"Why  not  ?"  After  all,  London  was  not  such  a  bad 
idea.     He  had  thought  of  it  before  now  himself. 

"Well — I  don't  know  whether  I  told  you  that  I'm  not 
on  very  good  terms  with  my  husband's  people.  They 
haven't  been  at  all  nice  to  me  since  poor  Frank's  death." 

"Poor  Elise " 

"They  live  in  London  and  they  want  to  keep  me 
out  of  it.  My  father-in-law  gives  me  a  small  allowance 
on  condition  I  don't  live  there.  They  hate  me,"  she 
said,  smiling,  "as  much  as  all  that." 

"Is  it  a  large  allowance?" 

"!N'o.  It's  a  very  small  one.  But  they  know  I  can't 
get  on  without  it." 

"You  ought  not  to  be  dependent  on  such  people. 
.  .  .  Perhaps  in  a  flat — or  one  of  those  little  houses  in 
St.  John's  Wood " 


193  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"It  would  be  too  heavenly.  But  what's  the  good  of 
talking  about  it?" 

"You  must  know  what  I  want  to  do  for  you,  Elise. 
I  want  to  make  you  happy,  to  put  you  safe  above  all 
these  wretched  worries,  to  take  care  of  you,  dear.  You 
will  let  me,  won't  you  ?" 

"My  dear  Mr.  Waddington — ^my  dear  friend " 

The  dark  eyes  brightened.  She  saw  a  clear  prospect 
of  the  five  hundred.  Compared  with  what  old  Waddy 
was  proposing,  such  a  sum,  and  a  mere  loan  too,  repre- 
sented moderation.  The  moment  had  come,  very  hap- 
pily, for  reopening  this  question.  "I  can't  let  you  do 
anything  so — so  extensive.  Really  and  truly,  all  I 
want  is  just  a  temporary  loan.  If  you  really  could  lend 
me  that  five  hundred.     Y^ou  said " 

"I  didn't  say  I  would.  And  I  didn't  say  I  wouldn't. 
I  said  it  would  depend." 

"I  know.  But  you  never  said  on  what.  If  the 
securities  I  offered  you  aren't  good  enough,  there's  the 
legacy." 

He  was  silent.  He  knew  now  that  his  condition  had 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  securities.  He  must  know, 
he  would  know,  where  he  stood. 

"My  aunt,"  said  Elise  gently,  "is  very  old." 

"I  wouldn't  dream  of  touching  your  poor  little  leg- 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  193 

acy."  Ho  said  it  with  passion.  "Won't  you  drop  all 
this  sordid  talk  about  business  and  trust  me?" 

"I  do  ti-ust  you." 

The  little  white  hand  left  off  stroking  the  dark  fur 
and  reached  out  to  him.  He  took  it  and  held  it  tight. 
It  struggled  to  withdraw  itself. 

"You  aren't  afraid  of  me  ?"  he  said. 

"No,  but  I'm  afraid  of  Partridge  coming  in  and 
seeing  us.    He  might  think  it  rather  odd." 

"He  won't  come  in.  It  doesn't  matter  what  Partridge 
thinks." 

"Oh,  doemt  it!" 

"He  won't  come  in." 

Ho  drew  a  little  closer  to  her. 

"He  will.  He  will.  He'll  come  and  clear  away  the 
things.    I  hear  him  coming." 

He  got  up  and  went  to  the  door  of  the  smoke-room, 
to  the  further  door,  and  looked  out. 

"There's  no  one  there,"  he  said.  "They  don't  come 
•till  six  and  it  isn't  five  yet.  .  .  .  Elise — abstract  your 
mind  one  moment  from  Partridge.  If  I  get  that  little 
house  in  London,  will  you  live  in  it  ?" 

"I  can't  let  you.  You  make  me  ashamed,  after  all 
you've  done  for  me.    It's  too  much." 

"It  isn't.  If  I  take  it,  will  you  let  me  come  and  see 
you  ?" 


194  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

"Oh,  yes.     But "     She  shrank,  so  far  as  Elise 

could  be  said  to  shrink,  a  little  further  back  into  her 
corner. 

"It's  rather  far  from  Wyck,"  he  said.  "Still,  I 
could  run  up  once  in" — he  became  pensive — "in  three 
weeks  or  so." 

"For  the  day — I  should  be  delighted." 

"No.  Not  for  the  day."  He  was  irritated  with  this 
artificial  obtuseness.  "For  the  week-end.  For  the 
week,  sometimes,  when  I  can  manage  it.  I  shall  say  it's 
business." 

She  drew  back  and  back,  as  if  from  his  advance,  her 
head  tilted,  her  eyes  glinting  at  him  under  lowered  lids, 
taking  it  all  in  yet  pretending  a  paralysis  of  ignorance. 
She  wanted  to  see — to  see  how  far  he  would  go,  before 
she She  wanted  him  to  think  she  didn't  under- 
stand him  even  now. 

It  was  this  half-fascinated,  backward  gesture  that 
excited  him.     He  drew  himself  close,  close. 

"Elise,  it's  no  use  pretending.  You  know  what  I 
mean.     You  know  I  want  you." 

He  stooped  over  her,  covering  her  with  his  great 
chest.     He  put  his  arms  round  her. 

"In  my  arms.     You  Jctww  you  want  me " 

She  felt  his  mouth  pushed  out  to  her  mouth  as  it 
retreated,  trying  to  cover  it,  to  press  down.     She  gave 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  195 

a  cry:      "Oh — oh,   you "   and   struggled,   beating 

him  off  with  one  hand  while  the  other  fumbled  madly 
for  her  pocket-handkerchief.  His  grip  slackened.  He 
rose  to  his  feet.  But  he  still  stooped  over  her,  penning 
her  in  with  his  outstretched  arms,  his  weight  propped 
by  his  hands  laid  on  the  back  of  the  sofa. 

"You — old — imbecile "  she  spurted. 

She  could  afford  it.  In  one  rapid  flash  of  intelli- 
gence she  had  seen  that,  whatever  happened,  she  could 
never  get  that  five  hundred  pounds  down.  And  to  sur- 
render to  old  Waddy  without  it,  to  surrender  to  old 
Waddy  at  all,  when  she  could  marry  Freddy  Markham, 
would  be  too  preposterous.  Even  if  there  hadn't  been 
any  Freddy  Markham,  it  would  have  been  preposter- 
ous. 

At  that  moment  as  she  said  it,  while  he  still  held  her 
prisoned  and  they  stared  into  each  other's  faces,  she 
spurting  and  he  panting,  Barbara  came  in. 

He  started;  jerked  himself  upright.  Mrs.  Levitt 
recovered  herself. 

"You  silly  cuckoo,"  she  said.  "You  don't  know  how 
ridiculous  you  look." 

She  had  found  her  pocket-handkerchief  and  was 
dabbing  her  eyes  and  mouth  with  it,  rubbing  off  the 

uncleanness  of  his  impact.     "How  ridic Te-hee 

Te-hee — te-hee!"    She  shook  with  laughter. 


196  ME.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

Barbara  pretended  not  to  see  them.  To  have  gone 
back  at  once,  closing  the  door  on  them,  would  have  beeu 
to  admit  that  she  had  seen  them.  Instead  she  moved, 
quickly  yet  abstractedly,  to  the  writing-table,  took  up 
the  photographs  and  went  out  again. 

Mr.  Waddington  had  turned  away  and  stood  leaning 
against  the  chimneypiece,  hiding  his  head  ("Poor  old 
ostrich!")  in  his  hands.  His  attitude  expressed  a  dig- 
nified sorrow  and  a  wi'onged  integrity.  Barbara  stood 
for  a  collected  instant  at  the  door  and  spoke: 

"I'm  sorry  I  forgot  the  photographs."  As  if  she  said: 
■"Cheer  up,  old  thing.     I  didn't  really  see  you." 

Through  the  closed  door  she  heard  Mrs.  Levitt's 
laughter  let  loose,  malignant,  shrill,  hysterical,  a  horrid 
sound. 

"I'm  sorry,  Elise.    But  I  thought  you  cared  for  me." 

"You'd  no  business  to  think.  And  it  wasn't  likely 
I'd  tell  you." 

"Oh,  you  didn't  tell  me,  my  dear.  How  could  you  ? 
But  you  made  me  believe  you  wanted  me." 

"Wanted?  Do  you  suppose  I  wanted  to  be  made 
ridiculous  ?" 

"Love  isn't  ridiculous,"   said  Mr.  Waddington. 

"It  is.  It's  the  most  ridiculous  thing  there  is.  And 
when  you're  making  it.  .  .  .  If  you  could  have  seen 
your  face Oh,  dear !" 


MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  197 

"If  you  wouldn't  laugh  quite  so  loud.  The  servants 
will  hear  you." 

"I  mean  them  to  hear  me." 

"Confound  you,  Elise!" 

"That's  right,  swear  at  me.    Swear  at  me." 

"I'm  sorry  I  swore.  But,  hang  it  all,  it's  every  bit 
as  bad  for  me  as  it  is  for  you." 

"Worse,  I  fancy.  You  needn't  think  Miss  Madden 
didn't  see  you,  because  she  did." 

"It's  a  pity  Miss  Madden  didn't  come  in  a  little 
aooner." 


"Sooner  ?     I  think  she  chose  her  moment  very  well." 

"If  she  had  heard  the  whole  of  our  conversation  I 
think  she'd  have  realized  there  was  something  to  be 
said  for  me." 

"There  isn't  anything  to  be  said  for  you.  And  until 
you've  apologized  for  insulting  me " 

"You've  heard  me  apologize.  As  for  insulting  you, 
no  decent  woman,  in  the  circumstances,  ever  tells  a 
man  his  love  insults  her,  even  if  she  can't  return  it." 

"And  even   if  he's  another   woman's  husband?" 

"Even  if  he's  another  woman's  husband,  if  she's  ever 
given  him  the  right " 

"RiglLt  ?  Do  you  think  you  bought  the  right  to  make 
love  to  me?"     She  rose,  confronting  him. 


198  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"'No.  I  thought  you'd  given  it  me.  ...  I  was  mis- 
taken." 

He  helped  her  to  put  on  the  coat  that  she  wriggled 
into  with  clumsy,  irritated  movements.  Clumsy.  The 
woman  was  clumsy.  He  wondered  how  he  had  never 
seen  it.  And  vulgar.  E'oisy  and  vulgar.  You  never 
knew  what  a  woman  was  like  till  you'd  seen  her  angry. 
He  had  answered  her  appropriately  and  with  admir- 
able tact.  He  had  scored  every  point;  he  was  scoring 
now  with  his  cool,  imperturbable  politeness.  He  tried 
not  to  think  about  Barbara. 

"Your  fur." 

"Thank  you." 

He  rang  the  bell.     Partridge  appeared. 

"Tell  Kimber  to  bring  the  car  round  and  drive  Mrs. 
Levitt  home." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Waddington,  I'd  rather  walk." 

Partridge  retired. 

She  held  out  her  hand.  Mr.  Waddington  bowed 
abruptly,  not  taking  it.  He  strode  behind  her  to  the 
door,  through  the  smoke-room,  to  the  further  door.  In 
the  hall  Partridge  hovered.     He  left  her  to  him. 

And,  as  she  followed  Partridge  across  the  wide  lamp- 
lighted  space,  he  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  Elise, 
in   her   agitation,   waddled.     Like   a   duck — a  greedy 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  199 

duck.      Like    that    horrible    sister    of    hers,    Bertha 
Rickards. 

Then  he  thought  of  Barbara  Madden. 


When  Ralph  called  for  Barbara  he  told  her,  first 
thing,  that  he  had  heard  from  Mackintyres,  the  publish- 
ers, about  his  book.  He  had  sent  it  them  two-thirds  fin- 
ished, and  Grevill  Burton — ''Grevill  Burton,  Barbara !" 
— had  read  it  and  reported  very  favourably.  Mackin- 
tyres had  agreed  to  publish  it  if  the  end  was  equal  to  the 
beginning  and  the  middle. 

It  was  this  exciting  news,  thrown  at  her  before  she 
could  get  her  hat  on,  that  had  caused  Barbara  to  forget 
all  about  Mr.  Waddington's  photographs  and  Mr. 
Waddington's  book  and  Mr.  Waddington,  until  she  and 
Ralph  were  half  way  between  "VVyck-on-the-Hill  and 
Lower  Speed.  There  was  nothing  for  it  then  but  to  go 
on,  taking  care  to  get  back  in  time  to  take  the  photo- 
graphs to  Pyecraft's  before  the  shop  closed.  There 
hadn't  been  very  much  time,  but  Barbara  said  she  could 
just  do  it  if  she  made  a  dash,  and  it  was  the  dash  she 
made  that  precipitated  her  into  the  scene  of  Mr. 
Waddington's  affair. 

Ralph  waited  for  her  at  the  white  gate. 

"We  must  sprint,"  she  said,  "if  we're  to  be  in  time." 


200  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

They  sprinted. 

As  they  walked  slowly  back^  Barbara  became 
thoughtful. 

As  long  as  she  lived  she  would  remember  Wadding- 
ton:  the  stretched-out  arms,  the  top-heavy  body  bowed 
to  the  caress;  the  inflamed  and  startled  face  staring  at 
her,  like  some  strange  fish,  over  Mrs.  Levitt's  shoulder, 
the  mouth  dropping  open  as  if  it  called  out  to  her  "Go 
back !"  What  depths  of  fatuity  he  must  have  sunk  to 
before  he  could  have  come  to  that !  And  the  sad  figure 
leaning  on  the  chimneypiece,  whipped,  beaten  by  Mrs. 
Levitt's  laughter — ^the  high,  coarse,  malignant  laughter 
that  had  made  her  run  to  the  smoke-room  door  to  shield 
him,  to  shut  it  off. 

What  wouldn't  Ralph  have  given  to  have  seen  him ! 

It  was  all  very  well  for  Ralph  to  talk  about  making 
a  "study"  of  him ;  he  hadn't  got  further  than  the  merest 
outside  fringe  of  his  great  subject.  He  didn't  know  the 
bare  rudiments  of  Waddington.  He  had  had  brilliant 
flashes  of  his  own,  but  no  sure  sight  of  the  reality.  And 
it  had  been  given  to  her,  Barbara,  to  see  it,  all  at  once. 
She  had  penetrated  at  one  bound  into  the  thick  of  him. 
They  had  wondered  how  far  he  would  go;  and  he  had 
gone  so  far,  so  incredibly  far  above  and  beyond  himself 
that  all  their  estimates  were  falsified. 

And  she  saw  that  her  seeing  was  the  end — the  end  of 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  201 

their  game,  hers  and  Ralph's,  the  end  of  their  compact, 
the  end  of  the  tie  that  bound  them.  She  found  herself 
shut  in  with  Waddington;  the  secret  that  she  shared 
with  him  shut  Ralph  out.  It  was  intolerable  that  all 
this  rich,  exciting  material  should  be  left  on  her  hands, 
lodged  with  her  useless,  when  she  thought  of  what  she 
and  Ralph  could  have  made  of  it  together. 

If  only  she  could  have  given  it  him.  But  of  course 
she  couldn't.  She  had  always  known  there  would  be 
things  she  couldn't  give  him.  She  would  go  on  seeing 
more  and  more  of  them. 

Odd  that  she  didn't  feel  any  moral  indignation.  It 
had  been  too  funny,  like  catching  a  child  in  some  amus- 
ing naughtiness;  and,  as  poor  Waddy's  eyes  and  open 
mouth  had  intimated,  she  had  had  no  business  to  catch 
him,  to  know  anything  about  it,  no  business  to  be  there. 

"^Ralph,"  she  said,  "you  must  let  me  off  the  com- 
pact." 

He  turned,  laughing.  "Why,  have  you  seen  some- 
thing?" 

"It  doesn't  matter  whether  I  have  or  haven't" 

"It  was  a  sacred  compact." 

"But  if  I  can  only  keep  it  by  being  a  perfect  pig " 

He  looked  down  at  her  face,  her  troubled,  unnatu- 
rally earnest  face. 

"Of  course,  if  you  feel  like  that  about  it " 


202  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"You'd  feel  like  that  if  you  were  his  confidential 
secretary  and  had  all  his  correspondence." 

"Yes,  yes.  I  see,  Barbara,  it  won't  work.  I'll  let 
you  off  the  compact.     We  can  go  on  with  him  just  the 


same." 


"We  can't." 

'What  ?    :N'ot  make  a  study  of  him  ?" 

"'No.  We  don't  know  what  we're  doing.  It  isn't  safe. 
We  may  come  on  things  any  day." 

"Like  the  thing  you  came  on  just  now." 

"I  didn't  say  I'd  come  on  anything." 

"All  right,  you  didn't.  He  shall  be  our  unfinished 
hook,  Barbara." 

"He'U  be  your  unfinished  book.  I've  finished  mine 
all  right.     Anything  else  will  be  simply  appendix." 

"You  think  you've  got  him  complete?" 

"Fairly  complete." 

"Oh,  Barbara " 

"Don't  tempt  me,  Ralph." 

"After  all,"  he  said,  "we  were  only  playing  with 
him." 

"Well,  we  mustn't  do  it  again." 

"l^ever  any  more?" 

"ITever  any  more.  I  know  it's  a  game  for  gods; 
but  it's  a  cruel  game.    We  must  give  it  up." 

"You  mean  we  must  give  him  up  ?" 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  203 

"Yes,  wef've  hunted  and  hounded  him  enough.  We 
must  let  him  go." 

"That's  the  compact,  is  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

"We  shall  break  it,  Barbara;  see  if  we  don't.  We 
can't  keep  off  him." 


Mr.  Waddington  judged  that,  after  all,  owing  to  his 
consummate  tact,  he  had  scored  in  the  disagreeable 
parting  with  Mrs.  Levitt.  But  when  he  thought  of 
Barbara,  little  Barbara,  a  flush  mounted  to  his  face, 
his  ears,  his  forehead;  he  could  feel  it — wave  after 
wave  of  hot,  unpleasant  shame. 

He  went  slowly  back  to  the  library  and  shut  himself 
in  with  the  tea-table,  and  the  sofa,  and  the  cushions 
crushed,  deeply  hollowed  with  the  large  pressure  of 
Elise.  H^  wondered  how  much  Barbara  had  taken  in, 
at  what  precise  moment  she  had  appeared.  He  tried 
to  reconstruct  the  scene.  He  had  been  leaning  over 
Elise;  he  could  see  himself  leaning  over  her,  enclosing 
her,  and  Elise's  head,  stiffened,  drawing  back  from  his 
kiss.  Worse  than  the  sting  of  her  repugnance  was  the 
thought  that  Barbara  had  seen  it  and  his  attitude,  his 
really  very  compromising  attitude.  Had  she?  Had 
she  ?    The  door  now,  it  was  at  right  angles  to  the  sofa ; 


204  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

perhaps  Barbara  hadn't  caught  him  fair.  He  went  to 
the  door  and  came  in  from  it  to  make  certain.  Yes. 
Yes.  From  that  point  it  was  no  good  pretending  that 
he  couldn't  be  seen. 

But  Barbara  had  rushed  in  like  a  little  whirlwind, 
and  she  had  gone  straight  to  the  writing-table,  turning 
her  back.  She  wouldn't  have  had  time  to  take  it  in. 
He  was  at  the  chimneypiece  before  she  had  turned 
again,  before  she  could  have  seen  him.  He  must  have 
recovered  himself  when  he  heard  her  coming.  She 
couldn't  charge  in  like  that  without  being  heard.  He 
must  have  been  standing  up,  well  apart  from  Elise,  not 
leaning  over  her  by  the  time  Barbara  came  in. 

He  tried  to  remember  what  Barbara  had  said  when 
she  went  out.  She  had  said  something.  He  couldn't 
remember  what  it  was,  but  it  had  sounded  reassuring. 
IsTow,  surely  if  Barbara  had  seen  anything  she  wouldn't 
have  stopped  at  the  door  to  say  things.  She  would 
have  gone  straight  out  without  a  word.  In  fact,  she 
wouldn't  have  come  in  at  all.  She  would  have  drawn 
back  the  very  instant  that  she  saw.  She  would  simply 
never  have  penetrated  as  far  as  the  writing-table.  He 
remembered  how  coolly  she  had  taken  up  the  photo- 
graphs and  gone  out  again  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Probably,  then,  as  far  as  Barbara  was  concerned, 
nothing  had  happened. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  205 

Then  he  remembered  the  horrible  laughing  of  Elise. 
Barbara  must  have  heard  that;  she  must  have  won- 
dered. She  might  just  have  caught  him  with  the  tail 
of  her  eye,  not  enough  to  swear  by,  but  enough  to  won- 
der; and  afterwards  she  would  have  put  that  and  that 
together. 

And  he  would  have  to  dine  with  her  alone  that  even- 
ing, to  face  her  young,  clear,  candid  eyes. 

He  didn't  know  how  he  was  going  to  get  through 
with  it,  and  yet  he  did  get  through. 

To  begin  with,  Barbara  was  very  late  for  dinner. 

She  had  thought  of  being  late  as  a  way  of  letting 
Mr.  Waddington  down  easily.  She  would  come  in, 
smiling  and  apologetic,  palpably  in  the  wrong,  having 
kept  him  waiting,  and  he  would  be  gracious  and  forgive 
her,  and  his  graciousness  and  forgiveness  would  help 
to  reinstate  him.  He  would  need,  she  reflected,  a  lot 
of  reinstating.  Barbara  considered  that,  in  the  matter 
of  punishment,  he  had  had  enough.  Mrs.  Levitt,  with 
her  ''You  old  imbecile!"  had  done  to  him  all,  and  more 
than  all,  that  justice  could  require;  there  was  a  point 
of  humiliation  beyond  which  no  human  creature  should 
be  asked  to  suffer.  To  be  caught  making  love  to  Mrs. 
Levitt  and  being  called  an  old  imbecile !  And  then  to 
be  pelted  with  indecent  laughter.  And,  in  any  case,  it 
was  not  her,  Barbara's,  place  to  punish  him  or  judge 


206  MR.  WADDIXGTO^^  OF  WYCK 

him.  She  had  had  no  business  to  catch  him,  no  busi- 
ness, in  the  first  instance,  to  forget  the  photogi'aphs. 

Therefore,  as  she  really  wanted  him  not  to  know 
that  she  had  caught  him,  she  went  on  behaving  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  All  through  dinner  she  turned 
the  conversation  on  to  topics  that  would  put  him  in  a 
favourable  or  interesting  light.  She  avoided  the  sub- 
ject of  Fanny.  She  asked  him  all  sorts  of  questions 
about  his  war  work. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  ''some  of  the  things  you  did 
when  you  were  a  special  constable." 

And  he  told  her  his  great  story.  To  be  sure,  she 
knew  the  best  part  of  it  already,  because  Ralph  had 
told  it — it  had  been  one  of  his  scores  over  her — but  she 
wanted  him  to  remember  it.  She  judged  that  it  was 
precisely  the  sort  of  memory  that  would  reinstate  him 
faster  than  anything.  For  really  he  had  played  a  con- 
siderable part. 

"Well" — you  could  see  by  his  face  that  he  was 
gratified — "one  of  the  things  we  had  to  do  was  to  drive 
about  the  villages  and  farms  after  dark  to  see  that 
there  weren't  any  lights  showing.  It  was  nineteen — yes 
— nineteen-sixteen,  in  the  winter.  Must  have  been  win- 
ter, because  I  was  wearing  my  British  warm  with  the 
fur  collar.    And  there  was  a  reguleu'  scare  on." 

"Air  raids?" 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  207 

"N'o.  Tramps.  We'd  been  fairly  terrorized  by  a 
nasty,  dangerous  sort  of  tramp.  The  police  were  look- 
ing for  two  of  these  fellows — discharged  soldiers.  We'd 
a  warrant  out  for  their  arrest.     Robbery  and  assault." 

"With  violence  ?" 

"Well,  you  may  call  it  violence.  One  of  'em  had 
thrown  a  pint  pot  at  the  landlord  of  the  King's  Head 
and  hurt  him.  And  they'd  bolted  with  two  bottles  of 
beer  and  a  tin  of  Player's  Navy  Cut.  They'd  made 
off,  goodness  knows  where.     We  couldn't  find  'em. 

"I  was  driving  to  Daunton  on  a  very  nasty,  pitch- 
black  night  You  know  how  beastly  dark  it  is  between 
the  woods  at  Byford  Park?  Well,  I'd  just  got  there 
when  I  passed  two  felloAvs  skulking  along  under  the 
wall.  They  stood  back — it  was  rather  a  near  shave  with 
no  proper  lights  on — and  T  flashed  my  electric  torch 
full  on  them.  Blest  if  they  weren't  the  very  chaps 
we  were  looking  for.  And  I'd  got  to  run  'em  in  some- 
how, all  by  myself.  And  two  to  one.  It  wasn't  any 
joke,  I  can  tell  you.  Goodness  knows  what  nasty 
knives  and  things  they  might  have  had  on  'em." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"Do?  I  drove  on  fifty  yards  ahead,  and  pulled 
up  the  car  outside  the  porter's  lodge  at  Byford.  Then 
I  got  out  and  came  on  and  met  'em.  They  were 
trying    to    bolt    into    the    wood    when    I    turned    my 


208  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

torch  on  them  again  and  shouted  'Halt!'  in  a  parade 
voice. 

"They  halted,  hands  up  to  the  salute.  I  thought 
the  habit  would  be  too  much  for  'em  when  they  heard 
the  word  of  command.  I  said,  'You've  got  to  come 
along  with  me.'  I  didn't  know  how  on  earth  I  was 
going  to  take  them  if  tliey  wouldn't  go.  And  they'd 
started  dodging.  So  I  tried  it  on  again:  'Halt!' 
Regular  parade  stunt.  And  they  halted  again  all 
right.  Then  I  harangued  them.  I  said,  'Shun,  you 
blighters!  I'm  a  special  constable,  and  I've  got  a 
waiTant  here  for  your  arrest.' 

"I  hadn't.  I'd  nothing  but  an  Inland  Revenue 
Income  Tax  form.  But  I  whipped  it  out  of  my  breast 
pocket  and  trained  my  light  on  the  royal  arms  at  the  top. 
That  was  enough  for  'em.  Then  I  shouted  again  in 
my  parade  voice,  'Right  about  face !    Quick  march !' 

"And  I  got  them  marching.  I  marched  them  the 
two  miles  from  Byford,  through  Lower  Speed,  and 
up  the  hill  to  Wyck  and  into  the  police  station.  And 
we  ran  'em  in  for  robbery  and  assault," 

"It  was  clever  of  you." 

"N^o;  nothing  but  presence  of  mind  and  bluff,  and 
showing  that  you  weren't  going  to  stand  any  non- 
sense. But  I  don't  suppose  Corbett  or  Hawtrey  or 
any  of  those  chaps  would  have  thought  of  it." 


ME.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  209 

Barbara  wondered :  ^'Supposing  I  were  to  turn  on 
him  and  say,  'You  old  humbug,  you  know  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it.  You  know  you  didn't  march 
them  a  hundred  yards.'  Or  'I  saw  you  this  after- 
noon.' What  would  he  look  like?"  It  was  incon- 
ceivable that  she  should  say  these  things.  If  she 
was  to  go  on  with  her  study  of  him  alone  she  would 
go  on  in  the  spirit  they  had  begun  in,  she  and  Ralph. 
That  spirit  admitted  nothing  but  boundless  amuse- 
ment, boundless  joy  in  him.  Moral  indignation  would 
have  been  a  false  note;  it  would  have  been  downright 
irreverence  towards  the  God  who  made  him. 

What  if  he  did  omit  to  mention  that  the  nasty,  dan- 
gerous fellows  turned  out  to  be  two  feeble  youths,  half 
imbecile  with  shell-shock  and  half  drunk,  and  that  it 
was  Mr.  Hawtrey,  arriving  opportunely  in  his  car, 
who  took  them  over  the  last  mile  to  the  police  station  ? 
As  it  happened  Mr.  Waddington  had  frankly  forgotten 
these  details  as  inessential  to  his  story.  (He  had 
marched  them  a  mile.) 

After  telling  it  he  was  so  far  re-established  in  his 
own  esteem  as  to  propose  their  working  together  on 
the  Ramblings  after  dinner.  He  even  ordered  cof- 
fee to  be  served  in  the  library,  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened there.  Unfortunately,  by  some  culpable  over- 
sight of  Annie  Trinder's,  the  cushions  still  bore  the 


210  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

imprint  of  Elise.  Awful  realization  came  to  him 
when  Barbara,  with  a  glance  at  the  sofa,  declined  to 
sit  on  it.  He  had  turned  just  in  time  to  catch  the  flick 
of  what  in  a  bantering  mood  he  had  once  called  her 
''Barbaric  smile."  After  all,  she  might  have  seen 
something.  'Not  Mrs.  Levitt's  laughter  but  the 
thought  of  what  Barbara  might  have  seen  was  his  pun- 
ishment— that  and  being  alone  with  her,  knowing  that 
she  knew. 

5 

All  this  happened  on  a  Wednesday,  and  Fanny 
wouldn't  be  back  before  Saturday.  Hie  had  three  whole 
davs  to  be  alone  with  Barbara. 

He  had  thought  that  no  punishment  could  be  worse 
than  that,  but  as  the  three  days  passed  and  Barbara 
continued  to  behave  as  though  nothing  had  happened, 
he  got  used  to  it.  It  was  on  a  Friday  night,  as  he 
lay  awake,  reviewing  for  the  hundredth  time  the  sit- 
uation, that  his  conscience  pointed  out  to  him  how  he 
really  stood.  There  was  a  worse  punishment  than 
Barbara's  knowing. 

If  Fanny  knew 

There  were  all  sorts  of  ways  in  which  she  might  get 
to  know.  Barbara  might  tell  her.  The  two  were  as 
thick  as  thieves.  And  if  the  child  turned  jealous  and 
hysterical She  had   never  liked  Elise.     Or  she 


ME.  WADDIXGTON  OF  WYCK  211 

might  tell  Ralph  Bevan  and  he  might  tell  Fanny,  or 
he  might  tell  somebody  who  would  tell  her.  There 
were  always  plenty  of  people  about  who  considered  it 
their  duty  to  report  these  things. 

Of  course,  if  he  threw  himself  on  Barbara's  mercy, 
and  exacted  a  promise  from  her  not  to  tell,  he  knew 
she  would  keep  it.  But  supposing  all  the  time  she 
hadn't  seen  or  suspected  anything?  Supposing  her 
calm  manner  came  from  a  mind  innocent  of  all  see- 
ing and  suspecting?  Then  he  would  have  given  him- 
self away  for  nothing. 

Besides,  even  if  Barbara  never  said  anything,  there 
was  Elise.  No  knowing  what  Elise  might  do  or  say 
in  her  vulgar  fury.  She  might  tell  Toby  or  Mark- 
ham,  and  the  two  might  make  themselves  damnably 
unpleasant.  The  story  would  be  all  over  the  county 
in  no  time. 

And  there  were  the  servants.  Supposing  one  of  the 
women  took  it  into  her  head  to  in^ve  notice  on  account 


to-" 


of  "goings  on?" 

He  couldn't  live  in  peace  so  long  as  all  or  any  of 
these  things  were  passible. 

The  only  thing  was  to  be  beforehand  with  Barbara 
and  Bevan  and  Elise  and  Tobv  and  Markham  and 
the  servants ;  to  tell  Fanny  himself  before  any  of  them 
could  get  in  first.     The  more  he  thou.crht  about  it  the 


312  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

more  he  was  persuaded  that  this  was  the  only  right, 
the  only  straightforward  and  manly  thing  to  do;  at 
the  same  time  it  oecurred  to  him  that  by  suppressing 
a  few  unimportant  details  he  could  really  give  a  very 
satisfactory  account  of  the  whole  affair.  It  would  not 
be  necessary,  for  instance,  to  tell  Fanny  what  his  in- 
tentions had  been,  if  indeed  he  had  ever  had  any. 
For,  as  he  went  again  and  again  over  the  whole  stupid 
business,  his  intentions — those  that  related  to  the  little 
house  in  Cheltenham  or  St.  John's  Wood — tended  to 
sink  back  into  the  dream  state  from  which  they  had 
arisen,  clearing  his  conscience  more  and  more  from 
any  actual  offence.  He  had,  in  fact,  nothing  to  ac- 
count for  but  his  attitude,  the  rather  compromising 
attitude  in  which  Barbara  had  found  him.  And  that 
could  be  very  easily  explained  away.  Fanny  was  not 
one  of  those  exacting,  jealous  women ;  she  would  be 
ready  to  accept  a  reasonable  explanation  of  anything. 
And  you  could  always  appease  her  by  a  little  attention. 
So  on  Friday  afternoon  Mr.  Waddington  himself 
drove  the  car  down  to  Wvck  Station  and  met  Fanny 
on  the  platform.  He  made  tea  for  her  himself  and 
waited  on  her,  moving  assiduously,  and  smiling  an 
affectionate  yet  rather  conscious  smila  He  was  im- 
pelled to  these  acts  spontaneously,  because  of  that  gen- 
tleness and  tenderness  towards  Fanny  which  the  bare 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  213 

thought  of  Elise  was  always  enough  to  inspire  him 
with. 

Thus,  by  sticking  close  to  Fanny  all  the  evening  he 
contrived  that  Barbara  should  have  no  opportunity  of 
saying  anything  to  her.  And  in  the  last  hour  before 
bed-time,  when  they  were  alone  together  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, he  began. 

He  closed  the  door  carefully  behind  Barbara  and 
came  back  to  his  place,  scowling  like  one  overpowered 
by  anxious  thought.  He  exaggerated  this  expression 
on  purpose,  so  that  Fanny  should  notice  it  and  give 
him  his  opening,  which  she  did. 

"Well,  old  thing,  what  are  you  looking  so  glum 
about?" 

"Do  I  look  glum?" 

"Dismal.     What  is  it?" 

He  stood  upright  before  the  chimneypiece,  his  con- 
science sustained  by  this  posture  of  rectitude. 

"I'm  not  quite  easy  about   Barbara,"   he  said. 

"Barbara?     What  on  earth  has  she  been  doing?" 

"She's  been  doing  nothing.  It's — it's  rather  what 
she  may  do  if  you  don't  stop  her." 

"I  don't  want  to  stop  her,"  said  Fanny,  "if  you're 
thinking  of  Ralph  Bevan." 

"Ealph  Bevan  ?  I  certainly  am  not  thinking  of  him. 
Neither  is  she." 


214  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Well  then,  what?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  myself." 

"My  dear,  you  surely  don't  imagine  that  Barbara's 
thinking  of  you?" 

"Not — not  in  the  way  you  imply.  The  fact  is, 
I  was  let  in  for  a — a  rather  unpleasant  scene  the  other 
day  with  Mrs.  Levitt." 

"I  always  thought,"  said  Fanny,  "that  woman  would 
let  you  in  for  something.     Well?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  you  about  it,  my 
dear." 

"Why,  was  it  as  bad  as  all  that  ?  Perhaps  I'd  better 
not  know." 

"I  want  you  to  know.  I'm  trying  to  tell  you — be- 
cause of  Barbara." 

"I  can't  see  where  Barbara  comes  in." 

"She  came  into  the  library  while  it  was  hap- 
pening  " 

Fanny  laughed  and  it  disconcerted  him. 

"While  what  was  happening?"  she  said.  "You'd 
better  tell  me  straight  out.  I  don't  suppose  it  was 
anything  like  as  bad  as  you  think  it  was." 

"I'm  only  afraid  of  what  Barbara  might  think." 

"Oh,  you  can  trust  Barbara  not  to  think  things.  She 
never  does." 

Dear  Fanny.     He  would  have  found  his  job  of  ex- 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  215 

plaining  atrociously  difficult  with  any  other  woman. 
Any  other  woman  would  have  entangled  him  tighter 
and  tighter;  but  he  could  see  that  Fanny  was  trying 
to  get  it  straight,  to  help  him  out  with  all  his  honour 
and  self-respect  and  dignity  intact.  Every  turn  she 
gave  to  the  conversation  favoured  him. 

''My  dear,  I'm  afraid  she  saw  something  that  I 
must  say  was  open  to  misinterpretation.  It  wasn't 
my  fault,  but " 

N'o.  The  better  he  remembered  it  the  more  clearly 
he  saw  it  was  Elise's  fault,  not  his.  And  he  could  see 
that  Fanny  thought  it  was  Elise's  fault.  This  sug- 
gested the  next  step  in  the  course  that  was  only  not 
perjury  because  it  was  so  purely  instinctive,  the  sub- 
terfuge of  terrified  vanity.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  no  plan;  that  he  followed  Fanny. 

''Upon  my  word  I'd  tell  you  straight  out,  Fanny, 
only  I  don't  like  to  give  the  poor  woman  away." 

"Mrs.  Levitt?"  said  Fanny.  "You  needn't  mind. 
Y'ou  may  be  quite  sure  that  she'll  give  you  away  if 
you  don't." 

She  was  giving  him  a  clear  lead. 

When  he  began  he  had  really  had  some  thoughts 
of  owning,  somewhere  about  this  point,  that  he  had 
lost  his  head;  but  when  it  came  to  the  point  he  saw 
that  this  admission  was  unnecessarily  quixotic,  and  that 


216  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

he  would  be  far  safer  if  he  suggested  that  Elise  had 
lost  hers.  In  fact,  it  was  Fanny  who  had  suggested 
it  in  the  first  place.  It  might  not  be  altogether  a  fair 
imputation,  but,  hang  it  all,  it  was  the  only  one  that 
would  really  appease  Fanny,  and  he  had  Fanny  to 
think  of  and  not  Elise.  He  owed  it  her.  For  her 
Bake  he  must  give  up  the  personal  luxury  of  truth- 
telling.  The  thing  would  go  no  further  with  Fanny, 
and  it  was  only  what  Fanny  had  believed  herself  in 
any  case  and  always  would  believe.  Elise  would  be 
no  worse  off  as  far  as  Fanny  was  concerned.  So  he 
fairly  let  himself  go. 

"There's  no  knowing  what  she  may  do,"  he  said. 
"She  was  in  a  thoroughly  hysterical  state.  She'd 
come  to  me  with  her  usual  troubles — not  able  to  pay 
her  rent,  and  so  on — and  in  talking  she  became  very- 
much  upset  and  er — er — lost  her  head  and  took  me 
completely  by  surprise." 

"That,"  he  thought,  "she  certainly  did." 

"You  mean  you  lost  yours  too?"  said  Fanny  mildly. 

"I  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  But  I  was  rather 
alarmed.  Before  you  could  say  'knife'  she'd  gone  off 
into  a  violent  fit  of  hysterics,  and  I  was  just  trying 
to  bring  her  round  when  Barbara  came  in."  His 
explanation  was  so  much  more  plausible  than  the  real- 
ity that  he  almost  believed  it  himself.     "I  think,"  he 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  21''.- 

said,  pensively,  "she  must  have  seen  rae  bending  over 
her." 

"And  she  didn't  offer  to  help?" 

"1^0 ;  she  rushed  in  and  she  rushed  out  again.  She 
may  not  have  seen  anything;  hut  in  case  she  did,  I 
wish,  my  dear,  you'd  explain." 

"I  think  I'd  better  not,"  said  Fanny,  "in  case  she 
didn't." 

"No.  But  it  worries  me  every  time  I  think  of  it. 
She  came  right  into  the  room.  Besides,"  he  said, 
"we've  got  to  think  of  Mrs.  Levitt." 

"Mrs.  Levitt?" 

"Yes.  Put  yourself  in  her  place.  She  wouldn't 
like  it  supposed  that  I  was  making  love  to  her.  She 
might  consider  the  whole  thing  made  her  look  as  ridic- 
ulous as  it  made  ma" 

"I'd  forgotten  Mrs.  Levitt's  point  of  view.  You 
rather  gave  me  to  understand  that  was  what  she 
wanted." 

"I  never  said  anything  of  the  sort."  Seeing  that 
the  explanation  was  going  so  well  he  could  afford  to 
be  magnanimous. 

"I  must  have  imagined  it,"  said  Fanny.  "She  re- 
covered, I  suppose,  and  you  got  rid  of  her?" 

"Yes.     I  got  rid  of  her  all  right." 

"Well,"  said  Fanny,  gathering  herself  up  to  go  to 


218  ME.  WADDINGTON^  OF  WYCK 

bed,  "I  shouldn't  worry  any  more  about  it.     I'll  make 
it  straight  with  Barbara." 

She  went  up  to  Barbara's  bedroom,  where  Barbara, 
still  dressed,  sat  reading  over  the  fire. 

"Come  in,  you  darling,"  Barbara  said.  She  got 
up  and  crouched  on  the  hearthrug,  leaving  her  chair 
for  Fanny. 

Fanny  came  in  and  sat  down. 

"Barbara,"  she  said,  "what's  all  this  about  Horatio 
and  Mrs.  Levitt  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Barbara  flatly,  with  sudden 
presence  of  mind. 

"I  said  you  didn't.  But  the  poor  old  thing  goes 
on  and  on  about  it.  He  thinks  you  saw  something  the 
other  day.  Something  you  didn't  understand.  Did 
you  ?" 

Barbara  said  nothing.  She  stared  away  from 
Fanny. 

"Did  you?" 

"Of  course  I  didn't." 

"Of  course  you  did.  He  says  you  must  have  seen. 
And  it's  worrying  him  no  end." 

"I  saw  something.  But  he  needn't  worry.  I  un- 
derstood all  right," 

"What  did  you  see  ?" 

"Nothing.     Nothing  that  mattered." 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  219 

"It  matters  most  awfully  to  me." 

"I  don't  think  it  need/'  said  Barbara. 

"But  it  does.  In  a  sense  I  don't  mind  what  he 
does,  and  in  a  sense  I  do.  I  still  care  enough  for 
that." 

"I  don't  think  there  was  anything  you  need  mind 
so  awfully." 

"Yes,  but  there  was  something.  He  said  there  was. 
He  was  afraid  you'd  misunderstand  it.  He  said  he 
was  bending  over  her  when  you  came  in." 

"Well,  he  was  bending  a  bit." 

"What  was  she  doing?" 

"She  was  laughing." 

"In  hysterics?" 

She  saw  it  all. 

"I  suppose  you  might  call  it  hysterics.  They 
weren't    nice    hysterics,    though.     She    isn't    a    nice 


woman." 


"No.  But  he  was  making  love  to  her,  and  she 
was  laughing  at  him.     She  was  nice  enough  for  that" 

"If  that's  nica" 

"Why,  what  else  could  the  poor  woman  do  if  she's 
honest  ?" 

"Oh,  she's  honest  enough  in  that  way,"  said  Bar- 
bara. 


220  MK.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"And  he  couldn't  see  it.  He's  so  intent  on  his  own 
beautiful  Postletbwaite  nose,  he  can't  see  anything 
that  goes  on  under  it.  .  .  .  Still,  honest  or  not  honest, 
she's  a  beast,  Barbara.  When  they'd  been  such  pals 
and  he'd  helped  her,  to  have  gone  and  rounded  on  the 
poor  thing  like  that.  She  might  just  as  well  have 
pulled  his  Postletbwaite  nose.     It  couldn't  have  hurt 


more." 


"Oh,  I  think  he'll  get  over  it." 

"I  mean  it  couldn't  have  hurt  me  more." 

"She  is  a  beast,"  said  Barbara.  "I  bet  you  any- 
thing you  like  it's  her  fault.     She  drove  him  to  it." 

"]^o,  Barbara,  it  was  my  fault.  /  drove  him.  I'm 
always  laughing  at  him,  and  he  can't  bear  being 
laughed  at.  It  makes  him  feel  all  stuffy  and  middle- 
aged.  He  only  goes  in  for  passion  because  it  mak^ 
him  feel  yoimg." 

"It  isn't  really  passion,"  said  Barbara. 

"No,  you  wise  thing,  it  isn't.  If  it  was  I  could 
forgive  him.  I  could  forgive  it  if  he  really  felt  young. 
It's  this  ghastly  affectation  I  can't  stand.  .  .  .  But 
it's  my  fault,  Barbara,  my  fault.  I  should  have  kept 
him  young.  .  .  ." 

They  sat  silent,  Barbara  at  Fanny's  feet.  Pres- 
ently Fanny  drew  the  girl's  head  down  into  her  lap. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  221 

"You'll   never  be  old,   Barbara,"    she  said.     "And 
Ralph  won't." 

"What  made  you  think  of  Ralph,  Fanny?" 
"Horatio,  of  course." 


xn 


If  any  mmonr  circulated  round  Wyck-on-the-Hill, 
sooner  or  later  it  was  bound  to  reach  tlie  old  lady  at 
the  Dower  House.  The  Dower  House  was  the  redis- 
tributing centre  for  the  news  of  the  district. 

Thus  Mr.  Wadding-ton  heard  that  Mrs.  Levitt  was 
talking  about  letting  the  White  House  furnished;  that 
she  was  in  debt  to  all  the  tradesmen  in  the  place; 
that  her  rent  at  Mrs.  Trinder's  was  still  owing;  that 
her  losses  at  bridge  were  never  paid  for.  He  heard 
that  if  Major  Markham  had  been  thinking  of  Mrs. 
Levitt,  he  had  changed  his  mind;  there  was  even  a 
definite  rumour  about  a  broken  engagement.  Any- 
how, Major  Markham  was  now  paying  unmistakable 
attentions  to  the  youngest  Miss  Hawtrey  of  Medli- 
cott.  But  as,  engagement  or  no  engagement,  his  at- 
tentions to  Mrs.  Levitt  had  been  unmistakable  too,  their 
rupture  required  some  explanation.  It  was  supposed 
that  the  letter  which  the  Major's  mother,  old  Mrs. 
Markham  of  Medlicott,   received  from  her  daughter, 

Mrs.    Dick    Benham    of    Tunbridge   Wells,    did    very 

222 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  223 

thoroughly  explain  it.  There  had  been  "things"  in 
that  letter  which  Mrs.  Markham  had  not  been  able  to 
repeat,  but  you  gathered  from  her  singular  reticence 
that  they  had  something  to  do  with  Dick  Benham  and 
Mrs.  Levitt,  and  that  they  showed  conclusively  that 
Elise  was  not  what  old  Mrs.  Waddington  called  '"a 
nice  woman." 

"They  say  she  led  Frank  Levitt  an  awful  life.  The 
Benhams,  my  dear,  won't  have  her  in  the  house." 

But  all  this  was  trivial  compared  with  the  corre- 
spondence that  now  passed  between  Mr.  Waddington 
and  Elise.  He  admitted  now  that  old  Corbett  had 
known  what  he  was  talking  about  when  he  had  warned 
him  that  he  would  be  landed — landed,  if  he  didn't 
take  care,  to  the  tune  of  five  hundred  and  fifty-five 
pounds.  His  letters  to  Mrs.  Levitt,  dictated  to  Barbara 
Madden,  revealed  the  care  he  had  to  take.  From  motives 
which  appeared  to  him  chivalrous  he  had  refrained  from 
showing  Barbara  Mrs.  Levitt's  letters  to  him.  He  left 
her  to  gather  their  crude  substance  from  his  admir- 
able replies. 

"  'My  deab  Mes.  Levitt  : 

"  'I  am  afraid  I  must  advise  you  to  give  up  the 
scheme  if  it  depends  on  my  co-operation.  I  thought 
I  had  defined  my  position ' 


324  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

''Defined  my  position  is  good,  I  think." 

"It  sounds  good,"   said  Barbara. 

"  'That  position  remains  what  it  was.  And  as  your 
exceptionally  fine  intelligence  cannot  fail  to  under- 
stand it,  no  more  need  be  said. 

"  'At  least  I  hope  it  is  so.  I  should  be  sorry  if  our 
very  pleasant  relations  terminated  in  disappoint- 
ment  '  " 

For  one  instant  she  could  see  him  smile,  feeling 
voluptuously  the  sharp,  bright  edge  of  his  word  before 
it  cut  him.  He  drew  back,  scowling  above  a  sudden 
sombre  flush  of  memory. 

"Disappointment "    said    Barbara,    giving    him 

his  cue. 

"Disappointment  is  not  quite  the  word.  I  want 
something — something  more  chivalrous." 

His  eyes  turned  away  from  her,  pretending  to  look 
for  it. 

"Ah — now  I  have  it.  'Very  pleasant  relations  termi- 
nated on  a  note — on  a  note  of- — on  an  unexpected  note. 

"  'With  kind  regards,  very  sincerely  yours, 

"  'HOKATIO   BySSHE   WADDINGTOISr.' 

"You  will  see,  Barbara,  that  I  am  saying  precisely 
the  same  thing,  but  saying  it  inoffensively,  as  a  gen- 
tleman should." 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  225 

Forty-eight  hours  later  he  dictated: 

"  'Deak  Mrs.  Levitt  : 

"  'ISTo :  I  have  no  suggestion  to  make  except  that 
you  curtail  your  very  considerable  expenditure.  For 
the  rest,  believe  me  it  is  as  disagreeable  for  me  to  be 
obliged  to  refuse  your  request  as  I  am  sure  it  must 
be  for  you  to  make  it ' 

"H'm.  Eest — request.  That  won't  do.  'As  dis- 
agreeable for  me  to  have  to  refuse  as  it  must  be  for 
you  to  ask.' 

"Simpler,  that,  Never  use  an  elaborate  phrase 
where  a  simple  one  will  do. 

"  'You  are  good  enough  to  say  I  have  done  so  much 
for  you  in  the  past.  I  have  done  what  I  could;  but 
you  will  pardon  me  if  I  say  there  is  a  limit  beyond 
which  I  cannot  go. 

"  'Sincerely  yours, 

"  'Horatio  B.  Waddington/ 

"I've  sent  her  a  cheque  for  fifty-five  pounds  al- 
ready.    That  ought  to  have  settled  her." 

"Settled  her  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  sent  her 
a  cheque?" 

"I  did." 

"You  oughtn't  to  have  sent  her  anything  at  all." 

"But  I'd  promised  it,  Barbara " 


226  MK.  WADDLXGTOX  OF  WYCK 

"I  don't  care.     You  oufflit  to  have  waited." 

"I  wanted  to  close  the  account  and  have  done  with 
her." 

"That  isn't  the  way  to  close  it,  sending  cheques. 
That  cheque  will  have  to  go  through  Parson's  Bank. 
Supposing  Toby  sees  it?" 

"What  if  he  does?" 

"He  might  object.  He  might  even  make  a  row 
about  it." 

"What  could  I  do?     I  had  to  pay  her." 

"You  could  have  made  the  cheque  payable  to  me. 
It  would  have  passed  as  my  quarter's  salary.  I  could 
have  cashed  it  and  you  could  have  given  her  notes." 

"And  if  Toby  remembered  their  numbers  ?" 

"You  could  have  changed  them  for  ten  shilling  notes 
in  Cheltenham." 

"All  these  elaborate  precautions!" 

"You  can't  be  too  precautious  when  you're  dealing 
with  a  woman  like  that.  ...  Is  this  all  you've  given 
her?" 

"All?" 

"Yes.  Did  you  ever  give  her  anything  any  other 
time?" 

"Well — possibly — from   time   to  time " 

"Have  you  any  idea  of  the  total  amount?" 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  227 

"I  can't  say  off-hand.  And  I  can't  see  what  it  has 
to  do  with  it" 

''It  has  everything  to  do  with  it.  Can  you  find 
out  ?" 

"Certainly,  if  I  look  up  my  old  cheque  books." 

"You'd  better  do  that  now." 

He  turned,  gloomily,  to  his  writing-table.  The 
cheque  books  for  the  current  year  and  the  year  before 
it  betrayed  various  small  loans  to  Mrs.  Levitt,  amount- 
ing in  all  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  odd. 

"Oh,  dear,"  said  Barbara,  "all  that's  down  against 
you.  Still — it's  all  ante-Wednesday.  What  a  pity 
you  didn't  pay  her  that  fifty-five  before  your  inter- 
view. 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"It's  pretty  certain  she's  misinterpreted  your  paying- 
it  now  so  soon." 

"After  the  interview  ?  Do  you  really  thinlt  she  mi*- 
nnddrstood  mo,  Barbara?" 

"I  think  she  wants  you  to  think  she  did." 

"You  think  she's  trying — ^trying — to " 

"To  sell  you  her  silence?     Yes,   I  do." 

"Good  God!  I  never  thought  of  that.  Black- 
mail." 

"I  don't  suppose  for  a  minute  she  thinks  she's  black- 
mailing you.     She's  just  trying  it  on.  .  .  .  And  she 


238  MR.  WADDINGTON^  OF  WYCK 

may   raise  her  price,  too.     She  won't  rest  till   she's 
got  that  five  hundred  out  of  you." 

Mrs.  Levitt's  next  communication  V70uld  appear  to 
have  supported  Barbara's  suspicion,  for  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  was  compelled  to  answer  it  thus: 

"  'Deae  Mrs.  Levitt  : 

"  'You  say  you  were  ''right  then"  and  that  my  "prom- 
ises" were  "conditional"  '  " — 

(You  could  tell  where  the  inverted  commas  came 
by  the  biting  clip  of  his  tone.) 

— "  'I  fail  to  appreciate  the  point  of  this  allusion. 
I  cannot  imagine  what  conditions  you  refer  to.  I 
made  none.  As  for  promises,  I  am  not  responsible 
for  the  somewhat  restricted  interpretation  you  see  fit 
to  put  on  a  friend's  general  expressions  of  goodwill. 
"  'Yours  truly, 

"  'Horatio  Byssiie  Waddington.'  " 

His  last  letter,  a  day  later,  never  got  as  far  as  its 
signature. 

"  'Dear  Madam  : 

"  'My  decision  will  not  be  affected  by  the  contin- 
gency you  suggest.  You  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  say 
what  you  like.     Nobody  will  believe  you.'  " 

"That,  I  think,  is  as  far  as  I  can  go." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  229 

"Much  too  far,"  said  Barbara. 

"And  that's  taking  her  too  seriously." 

"Much.     You  mustn't  send  that  letter." 

"Why  not  ?" 

"Because  it  gives  you  away." 

"Gives  me  away  ?     It  seems  to  me  most  guarded." 

"It  isn't.  It  implies  that  there  are  things  she  might 
say.  Even  if  you  don't  mind  her  saying  them  you 
mustn't  put  it  in  writing." 

"Ah-h.  There's  something  in  that.  Of  course,  I 
could  threaten  her  with  a  lawyer's  letter.  But  some- 
how      The  fact  is,  Barbara,  if  you're  a  decent  man 

you're  handicapped  in  dealing  with  a  lady.  Delicacy. 
There  are  things  that  could  be  said.  Material  things 
— ^most  material  to  the  case.     But  I  can't  say  them." 

"No.  You  can't  say  them.  But  I  can.  I  think 
I  could  stop  the  whole  thing  in  five  minutes,  if  I  saw 
Mrs.   Levitt.     Will  you  leave  it  to  me?" 

"Come— I  don't  know " 

"Why  not?     I  assure  you  it'll  be  all  right." 

"Well.  Perhaps.  It's  a  matter  of  business.  A 
pure  matter  of  business." 

"It  certainly  is  that.  There's  no  reason  why  you 
shouldn't  hand  it  over  to  your  secretary." 

He  hesitated.  He  was  still  afraid  of  what  Elise 
might  say  to  Barbara. 


230  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"You  will  understand  that  she  is  in  a  very  un- 
balanced state.  Excitable.  A  woman  in  that  stat^ 
is  apt  to  put  interpretations  on  the  most  innocent — 
er — acts." 

"She  won't  be  able  to  put  on  any  after  I've  done 
with  her.  If  it  comes  to  that,  I  can  put  on  interpre- 
tations too." 

Mr.  Waddington  then,  at  Barbara's  dictation,  wrote 
a  short  note  to  Mrs.  Levitt  inviting  her  to  call  and 
see  him  that  afternoon  at  three  o'clock. 

.2 

At  three  o'clock  Barbara  was  ready  for  her. 

She  had  assumed  for  the  occasion  her  War  Office 
manner,  that  firm  sweetness  with  which  she  used  to 
stand  betv/een  importunate  interviewers  and  her  chief. 
It  had  made  her  the  joy  of  her  department. 

"Mr.  Waddington  is  extremely  sorry  he  is  not  able 
to  see  you  himself.  He  is  engaged  with  his  agent 
at  the  momeat." 

Mr.  Waddington  had,  indeed,  created  that  engage- 
ment. 

"Engaged?     But  I  have  an  appointment." 

"Yes.  He's  very  sorr)-.  He  said  if  there  was  any- 
thing I  could  do  for  you " 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Madden.     If  it's  all  the  same  t» 


MR.  WADDINCxTON  OF  WYCK  231 

you,  I'd  muoh  rather  see  Mr.  Waddington  himself.  I 
can  wait." 

"I  wouldn't  advise  you  to.  I'm  afraid  he  may  be 
a  long  time.  He  has  some  very  important  business 
on  hand  just  now." 

"My  business,"  said  Mrs.  Levitt,  "is  very  im- 
portant." 

"Oh,  if  it's  only  business,"  Barbara  said,  "I  think 
we  can  settle  it  at  once.  I've  had  most  of  the  corre>- 
S|X)ndence  in  my  hands  and  I  think  I  know  all  the 
circumstances." 

"You  have  had  the  correspondence  in  your  hands?" 

"Well,  you  see,  I'm  Mr.  Waddington's  secretary. 
That's  what  I'm  here  for." 

"I  didn't  know  he  trusted  his  private  business  to 
his  secretary." 

"He's  obliged  to.  He  has  so  much  of  it.  You 
surely  don't  expect  him  to  copy  out  his  own  letters?" 

"I  don't  expect  him  to  hand  over  my  letters  to  othev 
people  to  read." 

"I  haven't  read  your  letters,  Mrs.  Levitt  I've 
merely  taken  down  his  answers  to  copy  out  and  file 
for  reference." 

"Then,  my  dear  Miss  Madden,  you  don*t  know  all 
the  circumstances." 

"At  any  rate,  I  can  tell  you  what  Mr.  Waddington 


232  MR.  WADDING  TOX  OF  WYCK 

intends  to  do  and  what  he  doesn't.  You  want  to  see 
him,  I  suppose,  about  the  loan  for  the  investment?" 

Mrs.  Levitt  was  too  profoundly  disconcerted  to 
reply. 

Barbara  went  on  in  her  fimi  sweetness.  "I  know 
he's  very  soriy  not  to  be  able  to  do  more,  but,  as  you 
know,  he  did  not  advise  the  investment  and  he  can't 
possibly  advance  anything  for  it  beyond  the  fifty 
pounds  he  has  already  paid  you." 

'•'Since  you  know  so  much  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Levitt  with  a  certain  calm,  subdued  truculence,  "you 
may  as  well  know  everything.  You  are  quite  mis- 
taken in  supposing  that  Mr.  Waddington  did  not  ad- 
vise the  investment.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  on  his 
representations  that  I  decided  to  invest.  And  it  was 
on  the  strengih  of  the  security  he  offered  that  my  so- 
licitors advanced  me  the  money.  He  is  responsible 
for  the  whole  business ;  he  has  made  me  enter  into  en- 
gagements that  I  cannot  meet  without  him,  and  when 
I  ask  him  to  fulfil  his  pledges  he  lets  me  down." 

"I  don't  think  Mr.  Wadding-ton  knows  that  your 
solicitors  advanced  the  money.  There  is  no  reference 
to  them  in  the  corresondence." 

"I  think,  if  you'll  look  through  your  fileSj,  or  if  Mr. 
Waddington  will  look  through  his,  you'll  find  you  are 
mistaken." 


ME.  WADDIXGTOX  OF  WYCK  233 

"I  can  tell  Mr.  Waddington  what  you've  told  me 
and  let  you  know  what  he  says.  If  you  don't  mind 
waiting  a  minute  I  can  let  you  know  now." 

She  sought  out  Mr.  Waddington  in  his  office — luck- 
ily' it  was  situated  in  the  kitchen  wing,  the  one  farthest 
from  the  lihrary.  She  found  him  alone  in  it  (the 
agent  had  gone),  sitting  in  a  hard  Windsor  chair. 
He  knew  that  Elise  couldn't  pursue  him  into  his 
office;  it  was  even  doubtful  whether  she  knew  where  it 
was.  He  had  retreated  into  it  as  into  some  impreg- 
nable position. 

Not  that  he  looked  safe.  His  face  sagged  more 
than  ever,  as  though  the  Postlethwaite  nose  had  with- 
drawn its  support  from  that  pale  flesh  of  funk.  If  it 
had  any  clear  meaning  at  all  it  expressed  a  terrified 
expectation  of  blackmail.  His  very  moustache  and 
hair  drooped  lamentably. 

''Are  you  disengaged?"  she  said. 

"Yes.     But  for  God's  sake  don't  tell  her  that." 

"It's  all  right.  She  knows  she  isn't  going  to  see 
you." 

"Well  ?" 

She  felt  the  queer,  pathetic  clinging  of  his  mind 
to  her  as  if  it  realized  that  she  held  his  honour  and 
Fanny's  happiness  in  her  hands. 


234  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"She's  not  going  to  give  up  that  five  hundred  with- 
out a  struggle." 

"The  deuce  she  isn't.  On  what  grounds  does  she 
claim  it?" 

"She  says  you  advised  her  to  make  a  certain  invest- 
ment, and  that  you  promised  to  lend  her  half  the  sum 
she  wanted." 

"I  made  no  promise.  I  said,  'Perhaps  that  sum 
might  be  forthcoming.'  I  made  it  very  clear  that  it 
would  depend  on  circumstances," 

"On  circumstances  that  she  understood — knew 
about?" 

"Er — on  circumstances  that No.     She  didn't 

know  about  them." 

"Still,  you  made  conditions?" 

"No.     I  made — a  mental  reservation." 

"She  seems  to  be  aware  of  the  circumstances  that 
influenced  you.  She  thinks  you've  gone  back  on  your 
word." 

"I  have  gone  back  on  nothing.  My  word's  sacred. 
The  woman  lies." 

"She  sticks  to  it  that  the  promise  was  made,  that 
on  the  strength  of  it  she  invested  a  certain  sum  of 
money  through  her  solicitors,  that  they  advanced  the 
money  on  that  security  and  you  advised  the  in- 
vestment." 


MPt.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  235 

''I  did  not  advise  it.  I  advised  her  to  give  it  up. 
I  wrote  to  her.  You  took  down  the  letter.  .  .  .  No, 
you  didn't.     I  copied  that  one  myself." 

"Have  you  got  it?     I'd  better  show  it  her." 

"Yes.  It's — it's — confound  it,  it's  in  my  private 
drawer." 

"Can't  I  find  it?" 

He  hesitated.  He  didn't  like  the  idea  of  anybody, 
even  little  Barbara,  rummaging  in  his  private  drawer, 
but  he  had  to  choose  the  lesser  of  two  evils,  and  that 
letter  would  put  the  matter  beyond  a  doubt. 

"Here's  the  key,"  he  said,  and  gave  it  her.  "It's 
dated  October  the  thirtieth  or  thirty-first  But  it's 
all  humbug.  I've  reason  to  believe  that  money  was 
never  invested  at  all.  It's  all  debts.  She  hasn't  a 
leg  to  stand  on.     Not  a  leg." 

"Not    a    stump,"    said    Barbara.      "Leave    her    to 


me." 


She  went  back  to  the  library.  Mrs.  Levitt's  face 
lifted  itself  in  excited  questioning. 

"One  moment,  Mrs.   Levitt." 

After  a  slightly  prolonged  search  in  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton's  private  drawer  she  found  the  letter  of  October 
the  thirty-first,  and  returned  with  it  to  the  office.  It 
was  very  short  and  clear: 


236  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"My  deak  Elise  : 

"I  cannot  promise  anything — it  depends  on  cir- 
cumstances. But  if  vou  sent  me  tlie  name  and 
address  of  your  solicitors  it  might  help." 

"Take  it,"  he  said,  "and  show  it  her." 

3 

Barbara  went  back  again  to  the  library  and  her  final 
battle  with  Elise. 

This  time  she  had  armed  herself  with  the  cheque 
books. 

Mrs.   Levitt  began,  "Well ?" 

"Mr.  Wadding-ton  says  he  is  very  sorry  if  there's 
any  misunderstanding.  I  don't  know  whether  you 
remember  getting  this  letter  from  him?" 

Mrs.  Levitt  blinked  hard  as  she  read  the  letter. 

"Of  course  I  remember." 

"You  see  that  he  could  hardly  have  stated  his  po- 
sition more  clearly." 

"But — this  letter  is  dated  October  the  thirty-first. 
The  promise  I  refer  to  was  made  long  after  that." 

"It  doesn't  appear  so  from  his  letters — all  that  I've 
taken  down.  If  you  can  show  me  anything  in 
writing " 

"Writing?  Mr.  Waddington  is  a  gentleman  and 
he  was  my  friend.     I  never  dreamed  of  pinning  him 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  237 

down  to  promises  in  writing.  I  thought  his  word  was 
enough.  I  never  dreamed  of  his  going  back  on  it. 
And  after  compromising  me  the  way  he's  done." 

Barbara's  eyebrows  lifted  delicately,  innocently. 
"Has  he  compromised  you  ?" 

"He  has." 

"How?" 

"Never  mind  how.  Quite  enough  to  start  all  sorts 
of  unpleasant  stories." 

"You  shouldn't  listen  to  them.  People  will  tell 
stories  without  anything  to  start  them." 

"That  doesn't  make  them  any  less  unpleasant.  I 
should  have  thought  the  very  least  Mr.  Waddington 
could  do " 

"Would  be  to  pay  you  compensation?" 

"There  can  be  no  compensation  in  a  case  of  this 
sort,  Miss  Madden.  I'm  not  talking  about  compensa- 
tion. Mr.  Waddington  must  realize  that  he  cannot 
compromise  me  without  compromising  himself." 

"I  should  think  he  would  realize  it,  you  know." 

"Then  he  ought  to  realize  that  he  is  not  exactly 
in  a  position  to  repudiate  his  engagements." 

"Do  you  consider  that  you  are  in  a  position — ex- 
actly— to  hold  him  to  engagements  he  never  entered 
into?" 

"I've  told  you  already  that  he  has  let  me  in  for  en- 


238  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

gagements  that  I  cannot  meet  if  he  goes  back  on  his 
word." 

"I  see.  And  jou  want  to  make  it  unpleasant  for 
him.     As  unpleasant  as  you  possibly  can?" 

"I  can  make  it  even  more  unpleasant  for  him,  Miss 
Madden,  than  it  is  for  me." 

"What,  after  all  the  compromising?" 

"I  think  so.  If,  for  instance,  I  chose  to  tell  some- 
body what  happened  the  other  day,  what  you  saw 
yourself." 

"Did  I  see  anything?" 

"You  can't  deny  that  you  saw  something  you  were 
not  meant  to  see." 

"You  mean  Wednesday  afternoon?  Well,  if  Mr. 
Waddington  chose  to  say  that  I  saw  you  in  a  bad  fit 
of  hysterics  I  shouldn't  deny  that." 

"I  see.     You're  well   posted.   Miss  Madden." 

"I  am,  rather.  But  supposing  you  told  everybody 
in  the  place  he  was  caught  making  love  to  you,  what 
good  would  it  do  you  ?" 

"Excuse  me,  we're  not  talking  about  the  good  it 
would  do  me,  but  the  harm  it  would  do  him." 

"Same  thing,"  said  Barbara.  "Supposing  you  told 
everybody  and  nobody  believed  you?" 

"Everybody  ivill  believe  me.  You  forget  that  those 
stories  have  been  going  about  long  before  Wednesday." 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  239 

"All  the  better  for  Mr.  Waddington  and  all  the 
worse  for  yoiL  You  were  compromised  before 
Wednesday.  Then  why,  if  you  didn't  like  being  com- 
promised, did  you  consent  to  come  to  tea  alone  with 
him  when  his  wife  was  away?" 

"I  came  on  business,  ds  you  Jcnow." 

"You  came  to  boiTow  money  from  a  man  who  had 
compromised  you?  If  you're  so  careful  of  your  rep- 
utation I  should  have  thought  that  would  have  been 
the  last  thing  you'd  have  done." 

"You're  forgetting  my  friendship  with  Mr.  Wad- 
dington." 

"You  said  business  just  now.  Friendship  or  busi- 
ness, or  business  and  friendship,  I  don't  think  you're 
making  out  a  very  good  case  for  yourself,  Mrs.  Levitt. 
But  supposing  you  did  make  it  out,  and  supposing 
Mr.  Waddington  did  lose  his  head  and  was  making 
love  to  you  on  Wednesday,  do  you  imagine  people  here 
are  going  to  take  your  part  against  him,?"  . 

"He's  not  so  popular  in  Wyck  as  all  that." 

"He  mayn't  be,  but  his  caste  is.  Immensely  pop- 
ular with  the  county,  which  I  suppose  is  all  you  care 
about.  You  must  remember,  Mrs.  Levitt,  that  he's 
Mr.  Waddington  of  Wyck ;  you're  not  fighting  one  Mr. 
Waddington,  but  three  hundred  years  of  Wadding- 
tons.     You're  up  against  all  his  ancestors." 


240  ME.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

"I  don't  care  that  for  his  ancestors,"  said  Mrs. 
Levitt  with  a  gesture  of  the  thumb. 

"You  may  not.  I  certainly  don't.  But  other  peo- 
ple do.  Major  Markham,  the  Hawtreys,  the  Thurs- 
tons,  even  the  Corhetts,  do  you  suppose  they're  all  go- 
ing to  turn  against  him  because  he  lost  his  head  for  a 
minute  on  a  Wednesday  ?  Ten  to  one  they'll  all  think, 
and  say,  3^ou  made  him  do  it." 

"7  made  him?     Preposterous!" 

"IsTot  so  preposterous  as  you  imagine.  You  must 
make  allowances  for  people's  prejudices.  If  you 
wanted  to  stand  clear  you  shouldn't  have  taken  all  that 
money  from  him." 

"All  that  money  indeed!  A  loan,  a  mere  tempo- 
rary loan,  for  an  investment  he  recommended." 

"I^ot  only  that  loan,  but "     Barbara  produced 

the  cheque  books  with  their  damning  counterfoils. 
"Look  here — twenty-five  pounds  on  the  thirty-first  of 
January.     And   here — October   last   year,    and    July, 

and  January  before  that More  than  a  hundred 

and  fifty  altogether.  How  are  you  going  to  account 
for  that? 

"And  who's  going  to  believe  that  Mr.  Waddington 
paid  all  that  for  nothing,  if  some  particularly  nasty 
person  gets  up  and  says  he  didn't?  You  see  what  a 
horrible  position  you'd  be  in,  don't  you?" 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  241 

Mrs.  Levitt  didn't  answer.  Her  face  thickened 
slightly  with  a  dreadful  flush.     Her  nerve  was  going. 

Barbara  watched  it  go.  She  followed  up  her  ad- 
vantage. "And  supposing  /  were  to  tell  everybody — 
his  friend,  Major  Markham,  say — that  you  were  press- 
ing him  for  that  five  hundred,  immediately  after  the 
affair  of  Wednesday,  on  threats  of  exposure,  wouldn't 
that  look  very  like  blackmail?" 

"Blackmail?     Really,  Miss  Madden " 

"I  don't  suppose  you  mean  it  for  blackmail;  I'm 
only  pointing  out  what  it'll  look  like.  It  won't  look 
well.  .  .  .  Much  better  face  the  facts.  You  can't 
do  Mr.  Waddington  any  real  harm,  short  of  forcing 
his  wife  to  get  a  separation." 

There  was  a  black  gleam  in  Mrs.  Levitt's  eyes. 
"Precisely.  And  supposing — since  we  are  supposing 
— I  told  Mrs.  Waddington  of  his  behaviour?" 

"Too  late.     Mr,  Waddington  has  told  her  himself." 

"His  own  version." 

"Certainly,  his  own  version." 

"And  supposing  I  gave  mine?'^ 

*'Do.  Whatever  you  say  it'll  be  your  word  against 
ours  and  she  won't  believe  you.  If  she  did  she'd 
think  it  was  all  your  fault.  .  .  .  And  remember,  I 
have  the  evidence  for  your  attempts  at  blackmail. 


242  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"I  don't  think,"  said  Barbara,  going  to  the  door 
and  opening  it,  "there's  anything  more  to  be  said." 

Mrs.  Levitt  walked  out  with  her  agitated  waddle. 
Barbara  followed  her  amicably  to  the  front  door. 
There  Elise  made  her  last  stand. 

"Good  afternoon,  Miss  Madden.  I  congratulate 
Mr.  Waddington — on  the  partnership." 

Barbara  rushed  to  the  relief  of  the  besieged  in  his 
office  redoubt. 

"It's  all  over!"  she  shouted  at  him  joyously. 

Mr.  Waddington  did  not  answer  all  at  once.  He 
was  still  sitting  in  his  uneasy  Windsor  chair,  absorbed 
in  meditation.  He  had  brought  out  a  little  note  from 
his  inmost  pocket  and  as  he  looked  at  it  he  smiled. 

It  began  thus,  and  its  date  was  the  Saturday  fol- 
lowing that  dreadful  Wednesday: 

"My  dear  Me.  Waddington: 

"After  the  way  you  have  stood  by  me  and  helped 
me  in  the  past,  I  cannot  believe  that  it  is  all  over,  and 
that  I  can  come  to  you,  my  generous  friend,  and  be 
repulsed '* 

He  looked  up.     "How  did  she  behave,  Barbara?" 
"Oh — she  wanted  to  bite — to  bite  badly ;  but  I  drew 
all  her  teeth,   very  gently,   one  by   one." 
Teeth.     Elise's  teeth — drawn  by  Barbara. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  243 

He  tore  the  note  into  little  bits,  and,  as  he  watched 
them  flutter  into  the  waste-paper  basket,  he  sighed. 
He  rose  heavily. 
"Let's  go  and  tell  Fanny  all  about  it,"  said  Barbara. 


xin 


"I  HOPE  you  realize,  Horatio,  that  it  was  Barbara  who 
got  you  out  of  that  mess  ?" 

"Barbara  showed  a  great  deal  of  intelligence;  but 
you  must  give  me  credit  for  some  tact  and  discretion 
of  my  own,"  Mr.  Waddington  said  as  he  left  the 
drawing-room. 

''Was  he  tactful  and  discreet?" 

"His  first  letters,"  said  Barbara,  "were  master- 
pieces of  tact  and  discretion.  Before  he  saw  the  dan- 
ger. Afterwards  I  think  his  nerve  may  have  gone 
a  bit.     Whose  wouldn't?" 

"It  was  clever  of  you,  Barbara.  All  the  same,  it 
must  have  been  rather  awful,  going  for  her  like  that." 

"Yes." 

Now  that  it  was  all  over  Barbara  saw  that  it  had 
been  awful;  rather  like  a  dog-fight.  She  had  been 
going  round  and  round,  rolling  with  Mrs.  Levitt  in 
the  mud ;  so  much  mud  that  for  purposes  of  sheer  clean- 
liness it  hardly  seemed  to  matter  which  of  them  was 
top  dog  at  the  finish.     All  she  could  see  was  that  it 

had  to  be  done  and  there  wasn't  anybody  else  to  do  it. 

244 


ME.  WADDINGTOI^  OF  WYCK  245 

"You  see,"  Fanny  went  on,  "she  had  a  sort  of 
case.  He  nxis  making  love  to  her  and  she  didn't  like 
it.     It  doesn't  seem  quite  fair  to  turn  on  her  after 

that." 

"She  did  all  the  turning.  I  wouldn't  have  said  a 
thing  if  she  hadn't  tried  to  put  the  screw  on.  Some- 
body had  got  to  stop  it." 

"Yes,"  Fanny  said.  "Yes.  Still,  I  wish  we  could 
have  let  her  go  in  peace." 

"There  wasn't  any  peace  for  her  to  go  in;  and  she 
wouldn't  have  gone.  She'd  have  been  here  now,  with 
his  poor  thumb  in  her  screw.  After  all,  Fanny,  I 
only  pointed  out  how  beastly  it  would  be  for  her  if  she 
didn't  go.  And  I  only  did  that  because  he  was  your 
husband,  and  it  was  your  thumb,  really." 

"Yes,  darling,  yes;  I  know  what  you  did  it  for. 
.  .  .  Oh,  I  wish  she  wasn't  so  horribly  badly  off." 

"So  do  I,  then  it  wouldn't  have  happened.  But  how 
can  you  be  such  an  angel  to  her,  Fanny  ?" 

"I'm  not.  I'm  only  decent.  I  hate  using  our  po- 
sition to  break  her  poor  back.  Telling  her  we're  Wad- 
dingtons  of  Wyck  and  she's  only  Mrs.  Levitt." 

"It  was  the  handiest  weapon.  And  you  didn't  use 
it.  I'm  not  a  Waddington  of  Wyck.  Besides,  it's 
true;  she  can't  blackmail  him  in  his  own  county.     You 


246  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

don't  seem  to  realize  how  horrid  she  was,  and  how 
jolly  dangerous." 

"No,"  Fanny  said,  "I  don't  realize  people's  horrid- 
ness.  As  for  danger,  I  don't  want  to  disparage  your 
performance,  Barbara,  but  she  seems  to  me  to  have 
been  an  easy  prey." 

"You  are  disparaging  me,"  said  Barbara. 

"I'm  not.  I  only  don't  like  to  think  of  you  enjoy- 
ing that  nasty  scrap." 

"I  only  enjoyed  it  on  your  account." 

"And  I  oughtn't  to  grudge  you  your  enjoyment  when 
we  reap  the  benefit.  I  don't  know  what  Horatio  would 
have  done  without  you.  I  shudder  to  think  of  the  mess 
he'd  have  made  of  it  himself." 

"He  was  making  rather  a  mess  of  it,"  Barbara 
said,  "when  I  took  it  on." 

"Well,"  said  Fanny,  "I  daresay  I'm  a  goose.  Per- 
haps I  ought  to  be  grateful  to  Mrs.  Levitt.  If  he  was 
on  the  look-out  for  adventures,  it's  just  as  well  he  hit 
on  one  that'll  keep  him  off  it  for  the  future.  She'd 
have  been  far  more  deadly  if  she'd  been  a  nice  woman. 
If  he  must  make  love." 

"Only  then  he  couldn't  very  well  have  done  it," 
Barbara  said. 

"Oh,  couldn't  he !  You  never  can  tell  what  a  man'll 
do,  once  he's  begun,"  said  Fanny. 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  247 


Meanwhile  Mrs.  Levitt  stayed  on,  having  failed  to 
let  her  house  for  the  winter.  She  seemed  to  he  acting 
on  Barbara's  advice  and  refraining  from  any  malig- 
nant activity;  for  no  report  of  the  Waddington  affair 
had  as  yet  penetrated  into  the  tea-parties  and  little 
dinners  at  Wyck-on-the-IIill.  Punctually  every  Fri- 
day evening  Mr.  Thurston  of  the  Elms,  and  either  Mr. 
Havrtrey  or  young  Hawtrey  of  Medlicott,  turned  up 
at  the  White  House  for  their  bridge.  If  Mrs.  Dick 
Benham  chose  to  write  venomous  letters  about  Elise 
Levitt  to  old  Mrs.  Markham,  that  was  no  reason  why 
they  should  throw  over  an  agi'eeable  woman  whose 
hospitality  had  made  Wyck-on-the-IIill  a  place  to  live 
in,  so  long  as  she  behaved  decently  in  the  place.  They 
kept  it  up  till  past  midnight  now  that  Mrs.  Levitt 
had  had  the  happy  idea  of  serving  a  delicious  supper 
at  eleven.  (She  had  paid  her  debts  of  honour  with 
Mr.  Waddington's  five  pounds;  the  fifty  she  reserved, 
in  fancy,  for  the  cost  of  the  chickens  and  the  trifles 
and  the  Sauterne.)  In  Mr.  Thurston  and  the  Haw- 
treys  the  bridge  habit  and  the  supper  habit,  and  what 
Billy  Hawtrey  called  the  Levitty  habit,  was  so  strong 
that  it  overrode  their  sense  of  loyalty  to  Major  Mark- 
ham.     The  impression  created  by  Mrs.  Dick  Benham 


248  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

only  heightened  their  enjoyment  in  doing  every  Fri- 
day what  Mrs.  Thurston  and  Mrs.  Hawtrey  persisted 
in  regarding  as  a  risky  thing.  "There  was  no  harm 
in  Elise  Levitt,"  they  said. 

So  every  Friday,  after  midnight,  respectable  house- 
holders, sleeping  on  either  side  of  the  White  House, 
were  wakened  by  the  sudden  opening  of  her  door,  by 
shrill  "Good  nights"  called  out  from  the  threshold 
and  answered  by  bass  voices  up  the  street,  by  the 
shutting  of  the  door  and  the  shriek  of  the  bolt  as  it 

slid  to. 

And  the  Eector  went  about  saying,  in  his  genial 
way,  that  he  liked  Mrs.  Levitt,  that  she  was  well  con- 
nected, and  that  there  was  no  harm  in  her.  So  long 
as  any  parishioner  was  a  frequent  attendant  at  church, 
and  a  regular  subscriber  to  the  coal  and  blanket  club, 
and  a  reliable  source  of  soup  and  puddings  for  the 
poor,  it  was  hard  to  persuade  him  that  there  was  any 
harm  in  them.  Fanny  Waddingion  said  of  him  that 
if  Beelzebub  subscribed  to  his  coal  and  blanket  club 
he'd  ask  him  to  tea.  He  had  a  stiff  face  for  unchar- 
itable people;  Elise  was  received  almost  ostentatiously 
at  the  rectory  as  a  protest  against  scandal-mongering ; 
and  he  made  a  point  of  stopping  to  talk  to  her  when  he 
met  her  in  the  street. 

This  might  have  meant  the  complete  rehabilitation 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  249 

of  Elise,  but  that  the  Hector's  geniality  was  too  in- 
discriminate, too  perfunctory,  too  Christian,  as  Fanny 
put  it,  to  afford  any  sound  social  protection;  and, 
ultimately,  the  approval  of  the  rectory  was  disastrous 
to  Elise,  letting  her  in,  as  she  afterwards  complained 
bitterly,  for  Miss  Gregg.  Meanwhile  it  helped  her 
with  people  like  Mrs.  Bostock  and  Mrs,  Cleaver  and 
Mrs.  Jackson,  who  wanted  to  be  charitable  and  to 
stand  well  with  the  Rector. 

Then,  in  the  December  following  the  Waddington 
affair,  Wyck  was  astonished  by  the  friendship  that 
sprang  up,  suddenly,  between  Mrs.  Levitt  and  Miss 
Gregg,  the  governess  at  the  rectoiy. 

There  was  a  reason  for  it — there  always  is  a  reason 
for  these  things — and  Mrs.  Bostock  named  it  when 
she  named  young  Billy  Hawtrey.  Friendship  with 
Mrs.  Levitt  provided  Miss  Gregg  with  unlimited  fa- 
cilities for  meeting  Billy,  who  was  always  running 
over  from  Medlicott  to  the  White  House.  Miss 
Gregg's  passion  for  young  Billy  hung  by  so  slender, 
so  nervous,  and  so  insecure  a  thread  that  it  required 
the  continual  support  of  conversation  with  an  experi- 
enced and  sympathetic  friend.  Miss  Gregg  had  never 
known  anybody  so  sympathetic  and  so  experienced  as 
Mrs.  Levitt.  The  first  time  they  were  alone  together 
she  had  seen  by  Elise's  face  that  she  had  some  secret 


250  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

like  her  own  (Miss  Gregg  meant  Major  Markham), 
and  that  she  would  understand.  And  one  strict  con- 
fidence leading  to  another,  before  very  long  Miss 
Gregg  had  captured  that  part  of  Elise's  secret  that 
related  to  Mr.  Waddington. 

It  was  through  Miss  Gregg's  subsequent  activities 
that  it  first  became  known  in  Wyck  that  Mrs.  Levitt 
had  referred  to  Mr.  Waddington  as  "that  horrible  old 
man."  This  might  have  been  very  damaging  to  Mr. 
Waddington  but  that  Annie  Trinder,  at  the  Manor, 
had  told  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Trinder,  that  Mr.  Waddington 
spoke  of  Mrs.  Levitt  as  "that  horrible  woman,"  and 
had  given  orders  that  she  was  not  to  be  admitted  if 
she  called.  It  was  then  felt  that  there  might  possibly 
be  more  than  one  side  to  the  question. 

Then,  bit  by  bit,  through  the  repeated  indiscretions 
of  Miss  Gregg,  the  whole  affair  of  Mrs.  Levitt  and 
Mr.  Waddington  came  out.  It  travelled  direct  from 
Miss  Gregg  to  the  younger  Miss  Hawtrey  of  Medlicott, 
and  finally  reached  Sir  John  Corbett  by  way  of  old 
Hawtrey,  who  had  it  from  his  wife,  who  didn't  believe 
a  word  of  it. 

Sir  John  didn't  believe  a  word  of  it^  either.  At 
any  rate,  that  was  what  he  said  to  Lady  Corbett.  To 
himself  he  wondered  whether  there  wasn't  "something 
in  it."     He  would  give  a  good  deal  to  know,  and  he 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  251 

made  up  his  mind  that  the  next  time  he  saw  Wad- 
dington  he'd  get  it  out  of  him. 

He  saw  him  the  very  next  day. 

Ever  since  that  dreadful  Wednesday  an  uneasy 
mind  had  kept  Mr.  Waddington  for  ever  calling  on 
his  neighbours.  He  wanted  to  find  out  from  their 
behaviour  and  their  faces  whether  they  knew  any- 
thing and  how  much  they  knew.  He  lived  in  per- 
petual fear  of  what  that  horrible  woman  might  say  or 
do.  The  memory  of  what  he  had  said  and  done  that 
Wednesday  no  longer  disturbed  his  complete  satisfac- 
tion with  himself.  He  couldn't  think  of  Elise  as  hor- 
rible without  at  the  same  time  thinking  of  himself  as 
the  pure  and  chivalrous  spirit  that  had  resisted  her. 
Automatically  he  thought  of  himself  as  pure  and  chiv- 
alrous. And  in  the  rare  but  beastly  moments  when  he 
did  remember  what  he  had  done  and  said  to  Elise 
and  what  Elise  had  done  and  said  to  him,  when  he  felt 
again  her  hand  beating  him  off  and  heard  her  voice 
crying  out:  "You  old  imbecile!"  automatically  he 
thought  of  her  as  cold.  Some  women  were  like  that 
— cold.  Deficient  in  natural  feeling.  Only  an  ab- 
normal coldness  could  have  made  her  repulse  him  as 
she  did.  She  had  told  him  to  his  face,  in  her  indecent 
way,    that  love   was   the   most  ridiculous   thing.     He 


252  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

couldn't,  for  tlie  life  of  him,  understand  how  a  thing 
that  was  so  delightful  to  other  women  could  be  ridicu- 
lous to  Elise;  but  there  it  was. 

Absolutely  abnormal,  that.  His  vanity  received 
immense  consolation  in  thinking  of  Elise  as  abnormal. 

His  mind  passed  without  a  jolt  or  a  jar  from  one 
consideration  to  its  opposite.  Elise  was  cold  and  he 
was  normally  and  nobly  passionate.  Elise  was  hor- 
rible and  he  was  chivalrously  pure.  Whichever  way 
he  had  it  he  was  consoled. 

But  you  couldn't  tell  in  what  awful  light  the  thing 
might  present  itself  to  other  people. 

It  was  this  doubt  that  drove  him  to  Underwoods 
one  afternoon  early  in  January,  ostensibly  to  deliver 
his  greetings  for  the  ISTew  Year. 

After  tea  Sir  John  lured  him  into  his  library  for 
a  smoke.  The  peculiar  smile  and  twinkle  at  play  on 
his  fat  face  should  have  warned  Mr.  Waddington  of 
what  was  imminent. 

They  puffed  in  an  amicable  silence  for  about  two 
minutes  before  he  began. 

"Ever  see  anything  of  Mrs.  Levitt  now  ?" 

Mr.  Waddington  raised  his  eyebrows  as  if  surprised  at 
thiis  impertinence.  He  seemed  to  be  debating  with  him- 
self whether  he  would  condescend  to  answer  it  or  not. 

":N"o,"  he  said  presently,  "I  don't." 


MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  253 

"Taken  my  advice  and  dropped  it,  have  you?" 

"I  should  say,  rather,  it  dropped  itself." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that,  Waddington ;  I'm  very  glad 
to  hear  it.  I  ahvays  said,  you  know,  you'd  get  landed 
if  you  didn't  look  out." 

"My  dear  Corbett,  I  did  look  out.  You  don't  imag- 
ine I  was  going  to  be  let  in  more  than  I  could  help." 

"Wise  after  the  event,  what  ?" 

Mr.  Waddington  thought :  "He's  trying  to  pump 
me."  He  was  determined  not  to  be  pumped.  Corbett 
should  not  get  anything  out  of  him. 

"After  what  event?  Fanny's  called  several  times, 
but  she  doesn't  care  to  keep  it  up.  Neither,  to  tell 
the  honest  truth,  do  I.  .  .  .  Why  ?" 

Sir  John  was  twinkling  at  him  in  his  exasperating 
way. 

"Why  ?  Because,  my  dear  fellow,  the  woman's  go- 
ing about  everywhere  saying  she's  given  you  up." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Mr.  Waddington,  "what  she 
says.     Quite  immaterial  to  me." 

"You  mayn't  care,  but  your  friends  do,  Wad- 
dington." 

"It's  very  good  of  them.  But  they  can  save  them- 
selves the  trouble." 

He  thought:  "He  isn't  going  to  get  anything  out 
of  me.'^ 


254  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Oh,  come,  you  don't  suppose  we  believe  a  word 
of  it." 

They  looked  at  each  other.  Sir  John  thought:  "I'll 
get  it  out  of  him."  And  Mr.  Waddington  thought: 
"I'll  get  it  out  of  him/' 

"You  might  as  well  tell  me  what  you're  talking 
about,"  he  said. 

"My  dear  chap,  it's  what  Mrs.  Levitt's  talking 
about.     That's  the  point." 

"Mrs.  Levitt!" 

"Yes.  She's  a  dangerous  woman,  Waddington.  I 
told  you  you  were  doing  a  risky  thing  taking  up  with 
her  like  that.  .  .  .  And  there's  Hawtrey  doing  the 
same  thing,  the  very  same  thing.  .  .  .  But  he's  a 
middle-aged  man,   so   I  suppose  he  thinks  he's  safe. 

.  .  .  But  if  he  was  ten  years  younger Hang  it 

all,  Waddington,  if  /  was  a  younger  man  I  shouldn't 
feel  safe.  I  shouldn't,  really.  I  can't  think  what  there 
is  about  her.     There's  something." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Waddington,  "there's  something." 

Something.  He  wasn't  going  to  let  Corbett  think  him 
so  middle-aged  that  he  was  impervious  to  its  charm. 

"What  is  it  ?"  said  Sir  John.  "She  isn't  handsome, 
yet  she  gets  all  the  young  fellows  running  after 
her.  There  was  Markham,  and  Thurston,  and  there's 
young  Hawtrey.     It's  only   sober   old   chaps  like  me 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  255 

who  don't  get  landed.  .  .  .  Upon  my  word,  Wad- 
dington,  I  shouldn't  blame  you  if  you  had  lost  your 
head." 

Mr.  Waddington  felt  shaken  in  his  determination 
not  to  let  Corbett  get  it  out  of  him.  It  was  also  clear 
that,  if  he  did  admit  to  having  for  one  wild  moment 
lost  his  head,  Corbett  would  think  none  the  worse  of 
him.  He  would  then  be  classed  with  Markham  and 
young  Billy,  whereas  if  he  denied  it,  he  would  only 
rank  himself  with  old  fossils  like  Corbett.  And  he 
couldn't  bear  it.  There  was  such  a  thing  as  doing 
yourself  an  unnecessary  injustice. 

Sir  John  watched  him  hovering  round  the  trap  he 
had  laid  for  him. 

"Absolutely  between  ourselves,"  he  said.  ^'Did 
you?" 

Under  Mr.  Waddington's  iron-grey  moustache  you 
could  see  the  Rabelaisian  smile  answering  the  Rabe- 
laisian twinkle.  Tor  the  life  of  him  he  couldn't  re- 
sist it. 

"Well — between  ourselves,  Corbett,  absolutely — to 
be  perfectly  honest,  I  did.  There  is  something  about 
her.  .  .  .  Just  for  a  second,  you  know.  It  didn't 
come  to  anything." 

"Didn't  it?  She  says  you  made  violent  love  to 
her." 


S56  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"I  won't  swear  what  I  wouldn't  have  done  if  I 
hadn't  pulled  myself  np  in  time." 

At  this  point  it  occurred  to  him  that  if  Elise  had 
betrayed  the  secret  of  his  love-making  she  would  also 
have  told  her  own  tale  of  its  repulse.  That  had 
to  be  accounted  for, 

"I  can  tell  you  one  queer  thing  about  that  woman, 
Corbett.     She's  cold — cold." 

"Oh,  come,  Waddington " 

"You  wouldn't  think  it " 

"I  don't,"  said  Sir  John,  with  a  loud  guffaw. 

"But  I  assure  you,  my  dear  Corbett,  she's  simply 
wooden.  Talk  of  making  love,  you  might  as  well 
make  love  to — to  a  chair  or  a  cabinet.  I  can  tell  you 
Markham's  had  a  lucky  escape." 

"I  don't  imagine  that's  what  put  him  off,"  said  Sir 
John.     "He  knew  something." 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  knew?" 

"Something  the  Benhams  told  them,  I  fancy. 
They'd  some  queer  story.  Rather  think  she  ran  after 
Dicky,  and  Mrs.  Benham  didn't  like  it." 

"Don't  know  what  she  wanted  with  him.  Couldn't 
have  been  in  love  with  him,  I  will  say  that  for  her." 

"Well,  che  seems  to  have  preferred  their  bungalow 
to  her  own.     Anyhow,  they  couldn't  get  her  out  of  it. 


jj 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  257 

"I  don't  believe  that  story.  We  must  be  fair  to 
the  woman,  Corbett." 

He  thought  he  had  really  done  it  very  well.  Not 
only  had  he  accounted  honourably  for  his  repulse, 
but  he  had  cleared  Elise.  And  he  had  cleared  him- 
self from  the  ghastly  imputation  of  middle-age.  Ee- 
pulse  or  no  repulse,  he  was  proud  of  his  spurt  of  youth- 
ful passion. 

And  in  another  minute  he  had  persuaded  himself 
that  his  main  motive  had  been  the  desire  to  be  fair 
to  Elise. 

"H'm!  I  don't  know  about  being  fair,"  said  Sir 
John.  "Anyhow,  I  congi'atulate  you  on  your  lucky 
escape." 

Mr.  Waddington  rose  to  go.  "Of  course — about 
what  I  told  you — you  won't  let  it  go  any  further  ?" 

Sir  John  laughed  out  loud.  "Of  course  I  won't. 
Only  wanted  to  know  how  far  you  went.  Might  have 
gone  farther  and  fared  worse,  what?" 

He  rose,  too,  laughing.  "If  anybody  tries  to  pump 
me  I  shall  say  you  behaved  very  well.  So  you  did, 
my  dear  fellow,  so  you  did.  Considering  the  provo- 
cation." 

He  could  afford  to  laugh.  He  had  got  it  out  of 
poor  old  Waddington,  as  he  said  he  would.  But  to 
the  eternal  honour  of  Sir  John  Corbett,  it  did  not  go 


258  MR.  WADDINGTOJ^  OF  WYCK 

any  further.  When  people  tried  to  get  it  out  of  him 
he  simply  said  that  there  was  nothing  in  it.,  and  that 
to  his  certain  knowledge  Waddington  had  behaved  very 
well.  As  Barbara  had  prophesied,  nobody  believed 
that  he  had  behaved  otherwise.  It  was  not  for  nothing 
that  he  was  Mr.  Waddington  of  Wyck. 

And  in  consequence  of  the  revelations  she  had  made 
to  her  friend.  Miss  Gregg,  very  early  in  the  New  Year 
Elise  found  other  doors  closed  to  her  besides  the  Mark- 
haras'  and  the  Waddingtons'.  And  behind  the  doors 
on  each  side  of  the  White  House  respectable  house- 
holders could  sleep  in  their  beds  on  Friday  nights 
without  fear  of  being  wakened  by  the  opening  and 
shutting  of  Mrs.  Levitt's  door  and  by  the  shrill  "Good 
nights"  called  out  from  its  threshold  and  answered 
up  the  street.  The  men-y  bridge  parties  and  the  lit- 
tle suppers  were  no  more. 

Even  the  Rector's  geniality  gTew  more  and  more 
Christian  and  perfunctory,  till  he  too  left  off  stop- 
ping to  talk  to  Mrs.  Levitt  when  he  met  her  in  the 

street. 

3 

Mr.  Waddington's  confession  to  Sir  John  was  about 
the  only  statement  relating  to  the  Waddington  affair 
which  did  not  go  any  further.  Thus  a  very  curious 
and    interesting    report    of    it    reached    Ealph    Bevan 


ME.  WADDINGTON^  OF  WYCK  259 

through  Colonel  Grainger,  when  he  heard  for  the  first 
time  of  the  part  Barbara  had  played  in  it. 

In  the  story  Elise  had  told  in  strict  confidence  to 
Miss  Grregg,  Mr.  Waddington  had  been  deadly  afraid 
of  her  and  had  beaten  a  cowardly  retreat  behind  Bar- 
bara's big  guns.  Not  that  either  Elise  or  Miss  Gregg 
would  have  admitted  for  one  moment  that  her  guns 
were  big;  Colonel  Grainger  had  merely  inferred  the 
deadliness  of  her  fire  from  the  demoralization  of  the 
enemy.  i, 

"Your  little  lady,  Bevan,"  he  said,  "seems  to  have 
come  off  best  in  that  encounter." 

"We  needn't  worry  any  more  about  the  compact, 
Barbara,  now  I  know  about  it,"  Ralph  said,  as  they 
walked  together.  Snow  had  fallen.  The  Cotswolds 
were  all  white,  netted  with  the  purplish  bro\vn  filigree- 
work  of  the  trees.  Their  feet  went  crunching  through 
the  furry  crystals  of  the  snow. 

"No.     That's  one  good  thing  she's  done." 

"Was  it  very  funny,  your  scrap?" 

"It  seemed  funnier  at  the  time  than  it  did  after- 
wards. It  was  really  rather  beastly.  Fanny  didn't 
like  it." 

"You  could  hardly  expect  her  to.  There's  a  limit 
to  Fanny's  sense  of  humour." 

"There's  a  limit  to  mine.     Fanny  was  right.     I  had 


260  MR.  WADDIN"GTON  OF  WYCK 

to  fight  her  with  the  filthiest  weapons.  I  had  to  tell 
her  she  couldn't  do  anything  because  he  was  Wadding- 
ton  of  Wyck,  and  she  was  up  against  all  his  ancestors. 
I  had  to  di-ag  in  his  ancestors." 

"That  was  bad." 

"I  know  it  was.  It's  what  Fanny  hated.  And  no 
wonder.  She  made  me  feel  such  a  miserable  little 
snob,  Ralph." 

•^Tauny  did?" 

"Yes.  Slie  couldn't  have  done  it.  She'd  have  let 
ler  do  her  damnedest." 

"That's  because  Fanny's  an  incurable  little  aristo- 
crat. She's  got  more  Waddington  of  Wyckedness  in 
her  little  finger  than  Horatio  has  in  all  his  ego;  and 
she  despises  Mrs.  Levitt.  She  wouldn't  have  conde- 
scended to  scrap  with  her." 

"The  horrible  thing  is,  it's  true.  He  can  do  what 
he  likes  and  nothing  happens  to  him.  He  can  turn 
the  Ballingers  out  of  their  house  and  nothing  hap- 
pens. He  can  make  love  to  a  woman  who  doesn't 
want  to  be  made  love  to  and  nothing  happens.  Be- 
cause he's  Wadding-ton  of  Wyck." 

"He's  Waddington  of  Wyck,  but  he  isn't  such  a 
bad  old  thing,  really.  People  laugh  at  him,  but  they 
like  him  because  he's  so  funny.  And  they've  taken 
Mrs.  Levitt's  measure  pretty  accurately." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  261 

"You  don't  think,  then,  I  was  too  big  a  beast  to 
her?" 

Ralph  laughed. 

"Somebody  had  to  save  him,  Ralph.  After  all,  he's 
Fanny's  husband." 

"Yes,  after  all,  he's  Fanny's  husband." 

"So  you  don't — do  you?" 

"Of  course  I  don't.  .  .  .  What's  he  doing  now?" 

"Oh,  just  pottering  about  with  his  book.  It's  nearly 
finished." 

^"You've  kept  it  up?" 

"Rather.  There  isn't  a  sentence  he  mightn't  have 
written  himself.  I  think  I'm  going  to  let  him  go 
back  to  Lower  Wyck  on  the  last  page  and  end  there. 
In  his  Manor.  I  thought  of  putting  something  in 
about  holly-decked  halls  and  Yule  logs  on  the  Christ- 
mas hearth.  He  was  photographed  the  other  day.  In 
the  snow." 

"Gorgeous." 

"I  wonder  if  he'll  really  settle  down  now.  Or  if 
he'll  do  it  all  over  again  some  day  with  somebody 
else." 

"You  can't  telL  You  can't  possibly  tell.  He  may 
do  anything." 

"That's  what  we   feel  about  him,"   Barbara  said. 


iC 


262  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

Endless  possibilities.  Yet  you'd  think  he  couldn't 
go  one  better  than  Mrs.  Levitt." 

For  the  next  half-mile  they  disputed  whether  in 
the  scene  with  Mrs.  Levitt  he  was  or  was  not  really 
funny.  Ralph  was  inclined  to  think  that  he  might 
have  been   purely  disgusting. 

"You  didn't  see  him,  Ealph.  You've  no  right  to 
say  he  wasn't  funny." 

"No.  No.  I  didn't  see  him.  You  needn't  rub  it 
in,  Barbara." 

"We've  got  to  wait  and  see  what  he  does  next.  It 
may  be  your  turn  any  day." 

"We  can't  expect  him  to  do  very  much  for  a  little 
while.  He  must  be  a  bit  exhausted  with  this  last 
stunt." 

"Yes.  And  the  funny  thing  is  he  has  moments 
when  you  don't  laugh  at  him.  Moments  of  calm, 
beautiful  peace.  .  .  .  You  come  on  him  walking  in 
his  garden  looking  for  snowdrops  in  the  snow.  Or 
he's  sitting  in  his  library,  reading  Buchan's  'History 
of  the  Great  War.'  Happy.  Not  thinking  about 
himself  at  all.  Then  you're  sorry  you  ever  laughed 
at  him." 

"I'm  not,"  Ralph  said.  "He  owes  it  us.  He  does 
nothing  else  to  justify  his  existence." 

"Yes.     But  he  exists.     He  exists.     And  somehow, 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  263 

it's   pretty   mysterious   when   you    think   of   it.     You 

wonder  whether  you  mayn't  have  seen  him  all  wrong. 

Whether  all  the  time  he  isn't  just  a  simple  old  thing. 

.  .  .  When  you  get  that  feeling — of  his  mysterious- 

ness,  Ralph — somehow  you're  done." 
"I  haven't  had  it  yet." 
*'0h,  it's  there.     You'll  get  it  some  day." 
"You  see,  Barbara,  how  right  I   was?     We  can't 

keep  off  him." 


XIV 


It  was  Sunday,  the  last  week  of  Horry's  holidays. 
All  through  supper  he  had  been  talking  about  cycling 
to  Cirencester  if  the  frost  held,  to  skate  on  the  canal. 

The  frost  did  hold,  and  in  the  morning  he  strapped 
a  cushion  on  the  carrier  of  his  bicycle  and  called  up 
the  stairs  to  Barbara. 

"Come  along,   Barbara,   let's  go  to  Cirencester." 

Barbara  appeared,  ready,  carrying  her  skates.  Mr. 
Waddington  had  let  her  off  the  Ramblings,  yet,  all  of  a 
sudden,  she  looked  depressed. 

"Oh,  Horry,"  she  said,  "I  was  going  with  Ralph." 

"You  are  not,"  said  Horry.  "You're  always  going 
with  Ralph.  You're  jolly  well  coming  with  me  this 
time." 

"But  I  promised  him." 

"You'd  no  business  to  promise  him,  when  it's  the- 
last  week  of  my  holidays.     'Tisn't  fair." 

Fanny  came  out  into  the  hall. 

"Horry,"   she  said,    "don't  worry   Barbara.     Can't 

you  see  she  wants  to  go  with  Ralph?" 

264 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  265 

"That's  exactly,"  he  said,  "what  I  complain  of." 

She  shook  her  head  at  him.  "You're  your  father  all 
over  again,"  she  said. 

"I'll  swear  I'm  not,"  said  Horry, 

"If  you  were  half  as  polite  as  your  father  it  wouldn't 
he  a  bad  thing." 

There  was  a  sound  of  explosions  in  the  drive. 
"There's  Ralph  come  to  settle  it  himself,"  said  Fanny. 
And  at  that  point,  Mr,  Waddington  came  out  on  them, 
suddenly,  from  the  cloak-room. 

"What's  all  this?"  he  said.  He  looked  with  dis- 
gust, at  the  skates  dangling  from  Barbara's  hand.  He 
went  out  into  the  porch  and  looked  with  disgust  at 
Ralph  and  at  the  motor-bicycles.  He  thought  with  bit- 
terness of  the  Cirencester  canal.  He  couldn't  skate. 
Even  when  he  was  Horry's  age  he  hadn't  skated.  He 
couldn't  ride  a  motor-bicycle.  "Wlien  he  looked  at  the 
beastly  things  and  thought  of  their  complicated  ma- 
chinery and  their  evil  fascination  for  Barbara,  he  hated 
them.  He  hated  Horry  and  Ralph  standing  up  be- 
fore Barbara,  handsome,  vibrating  with  youth  and 
health  and  energy. 

"I  won't  have  Barbara  riding  on  that  thing.  It 
isn't  safe.  If  he  skids  on  the  snow  he'll  break  her 
neck." 


266  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Much  more  likely  to  break  his  own  neck,"  said 
Horry. 

In  his  savage  interior  Mr.  Waddington  wished  he 
would,  and  Horry  too, 

"He  won't  skid,"  said  Barbara;  "if  he  does  I'll 
hop  off." 

"We'll  come  back,"  said  Ralph,  "if  we  don't  get 
on  all  right." 

They  started  in  a  duet  of  explosions,  the  motor- 
bicycles  hissing  and  crunching  through  the  light  snow. 
Barbara,  swinging  on  Ralph's  carrier,  waved  her  hand 
light-heartedly  to  Mr.  Waddington.  He  hated  Bar- 
bara ;  but  far  more  than  Barbara  he  hated  Horry,  and 
far  more  than  Horry  he  hated  Ralph. 

"He'd  no  business  to  take  her,"  he  said.  "She'd 
no  business  to  go." 

"You  can't  stop  them,  my  dear,"  said  Fanny; 
"they're  too  young." 

"Well,  if  they  come  back  with  their  necks  broken 
they'll  have  only  themselves  to  thank." 

He  took  a  ferocious  pleasure  in  thinking  of  Horry 
and  Ralph   and  Barbara  with  their  necks  broken. 

Fanny  stared  at  him.  "I  wonder  what's  made  him 
so  cross,"  she  thought.  "He  looks  as  if  he'd  got  a 
chill  on  the  liver."  .  .  .  "Horatio,  have  you  got  a  chill 
on  the  liver  ?"  . 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  267 

"Now,  what  on  earth  put  that  into  yonr  head?" 

"Your  face.  You  look  just  a  little  off  colour, 
darling." 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Waddington  began  to  sneeze. 

"There,  I  knew  you'd  caught  cold.  You  oughtn't 
to  go  standing  about  in  draughts." 

"I  haven't  caught  cold,"  said  Mr.  Waddington. 

But  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  library  and  stayed 
there,  huddled  in  his  ai-mchair.  From  time  to  time 
he  leaned  forward  and  stooped  over  the  hearth,  hold- 
ing his  chest  and  stomach  as  near  as  possible  to  the 
fire.  Shivers  like  thin  icicles  kept  on  slipping  down 
his  spine. 

At  lunch-time  he  complained  that  there  was  nothing 
he  could  eat,  and  before  the  meal  was  over  he  went  back 
to  his  library  and  his  fire.    Fanny  sat  with  him  there. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  go  standing  out  in  the  cold," 
she  said.  She  knew  that  on  Saturday  he  had  stood  for 
more  than  ten  minutes  in  the  fallen  snow  of  the  park 
to  be  photographed.  And  he  wouldn't  wear  his  over- 
coat because  he  thought  he  looked  younger  without 
it,  and  slenderer. 

"No  wonder  you've  got  a  chill,"  she  said. 

"I  didn't  get  it  then.  I  got  it  yesterday  in  the 
garden." 

She   remembered.     He  had  been  wandering  about 


268  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

the  garden,  after  church,  looking  for  snowdrops  in 
the  snow.  Barbara  had  worn  the  snowdrops  in  the 
breast  of  her  gown  last  night. 

He  nourished  his  resentment  on  that  memory  and 
on  the  thought  that  he  had  got  his  chill  picking  snow- 
drops for  Barbara. 

At  tea-time  he  drank  a  little  tea,  but  he  couldn't 
eat  anything.  He  felt  sick  and  his  head  ached.  At 
dinner-time,  on  Fanny's  advice,  he  went  to  bed  and 
Fanny  took  his  temperature. 

A  hundred  and  one.  He  turned  the  thermometer 
in  his  hand,  gazing  earnestly  at  the  slender  silver 
thread.  He  was  gratified  to  know  that  his  tempera- 
ture was  a  hundred  and  one  and  that  Fanny  was 
frightened  and  had  sent  for  the  doctor.  He  had  a 
queer,  satisfied,  exalted  feeling,  now  that  he  was  in 
for  it.  When  Barbara  came  back  she  would  know 
what  he  was  in  for  and  be  frightened,  too.  He  would 
have  been  still  more  gratified  if  he  had  known  that 
without  him  dinner  was  a  miserable  affair.  Fanny 
showed  that  she  was  frightened,  and  her  fear  flattened 
down  the  high  spirits  of  Ralph  and  Barbara  and 
Horry,  returned  from  their  skating. 

"You  see,  Barbara,"  said  Ralph,  when  they  had  left 
Fanny  and  Horry  with  the  doctor,  "we  can't  live  with- 
out him." 


MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  269 

They  listened  at  the  smoke-room  door  for  the  sound 
of  Dr.  Ransome's  departure,  and  Ealph  waited  while 
Barbara  went  back  and  brought  him  the  verdict 

"It's  flu,  and  a  touch  of  congestion  of  the  lungs." 

They  looked  at  each  other  sorrowfully,  so  sorrow- 
fully that  they  smiled. 

"Yet  we  can  smile,"  he  said. 

"You  know,"  said  Barbara,  "he  got  it  standing  in 
the  snow,   while   Pyecraft   photographed  him." 

"It's  the  way,"  Ealph  said,  "he  vjovld  get  it." 

And  Barbara  laughed.  But,  all  the  same,  she  felt 
a  distinct  pang  at  her  heart  every  time  she  went  into 
her  bedroom  and  saw,  in  its  glass  on  her  dressing- 
table,  the  bunch  of  snowdrops  that  Mr.  Waddington 
had  picked  for  her  in  the  snow.  They  made  a  pattern 
on  her  mind;  white  cones  hanging  down;  sharp  green 
blades   piercing;   green  stalks  held  in  the  crystal  of 

the  water. 

2 

"Nobody  but  a  fool,"  said  Horry,  "would  have 
stood  out  in  the  snow  to  be  photographed  ...  at  his 
age." 

"Don't,  Horry." 

Barbara  was  in  the  morning-room,  stirring  some 
black,  sticky  stuff  in  a  saucepan  over  the  fire.  The 
black,   sticky   stuff  was   to  go  on   Mr.   Waddington's 


270  MR.  WADDIN^GTOjST  OF  WYCK 

chest.  Horry  looked  on,  standing  beside  her  in  an 
attitude  of  impatience.  A  pair  of  boots  with  skates 
clipped  on  hung  from  his  shoulders  by  their  laces. 
He  felt  that  his  irritation  was  justifiable,  for  Barbara 
had  refused  to  go  out  skating  with  him. 

"Why    'don't'?"    said   Horry.      "It's   obvious." 

"Very.     But  he's  ill." 

"There  can't  be  much  the  matter  with  him  or  the 
mater  wouldn't  look  so  chirpy." 

"She  likes  nursing  him." 

"Well,"  Horry  said,  "you  can't  nurse  him." 

"No.     But  I  can  stir  this  stuff,"  said  Barbara. 

"I  suppose,"  Horry  said,  "you'd  think  me  an  awful 
brute  if  I  went?" 

"I  wish  you  would  go.  You're  a  much  more  awful 
brute  standing  there  saying  things  about  him  and 
getting  in  my  way." 

"All  right.     I'll  get  out  of  it.     That's  jolly  easy." 

And  he  went.  But  he  felt  sick  and  sore.  He  had 
tried  to  persuade  himself  that  his  father  wasn't  ill 
because  he  couldn't  bear  to  think  how  ill  he  was;  it 
interfered  with  his  enjoyment  of  his  skating.  "If," 
he  said  to  himself,  "if  he'd  only  put  it  off  till  the  ice 
gave.    But  it  was  just  like  him  to  choose  a  hard  frost." 

His  anger  gave  him  relief  from  the  sickening 
anxiety  he  felt  when  he  thought  of  his  father  and  his 


MK.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  271 

father's  temperature.  It  had  gone  down,  but  not  to 
normal. 

Mr.  Waddington  lay  in  his  bed  in  Fanny's  room. 
Barbara,  standing  at  the  open  door  with  her  sauce- 
pan, caught  a  sight  of  him. 

He  was  propped  up  by  his  pillows.  On  his 
shoulders,  over  one  of  those  striped  pyjama  suits  that 
Barbara  had  once  ordered  from  the  Stores,  he  wore, 
like  a  shawl,  a  woolly,  fawn-coloured  motor-scarf  of 
Fanny's.  His  arms  were  laid  before  him  on  the 
counterpane  in  a  gesture  of  complete  surrender  to  his 
illness.  Fanny  was  always  tucking  them  away  under 
the  blankets,  but  if  anybody  came  in  he  would  have 
them  so.  He  was  sitting  up,  waiting  in  an  adorable 
patience  for  something  to  be  done  for  him.  His  face 
had  the  calm,  happy  look  of  expectation  utterly 
appeased  and  resigned.  It  was  that  look  that 
frightened  Barbara;  it  made  her  think  that  Mr. 
Waddington  was  going  to  die.  Supposing  his  conges- 
tion turned  to  pneumonia  ?  There  was  so  much  of 
him  to  be  ill,  and  those  big  men  always  did  die  when 
they  got  pneumonia. 

Mr.  Waddington  could  hear  Barbara's  quiet  voice 
saying  something  to  Fanny ;  he  could  see  her  unhappy, 
anxious  face.  He  enjoyed  Barbara's  anxiety.  He 
enjoyed  the  cause  of  it,  his  illness.     So  long  as  he 


372  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

was  actually  alive  he  even  enjoyed  the  thought  that, 
if  his  congestion  turned  to  pneumonia,  he  might 
actually  die.  There  was  a  dignity,  a  prestige  about 
being  dead  that  appealed  to  him.  Even  his  high  tem- 
perature and  his  headache  and  his  shooting  pains  and 
his  difficulty  in  breathing  could  not  altogether  spoil 
his  pleasure  in  the  delicious  concern  of  everybody 
about  him,  and  in  his  exquisite  certainty  that,  at  any 
minute,  a  moan  would  bring  Fanny  to  his  side.  He 
was  the  one  person  in  the  house  that  counted.  He  had 
always  known  it,  but  he  had  never  felt  it  with  the 
same  intensity  as  now.  The  mind  of  every  person  in 
the  house  was  concentrated  on  him  now  as  it  had  not 
been  concentrated  before.  He  was  holding  them  all 
in  a  tension  of  worry  and  anxiety.  He  would  apolo- 
gize very  sweetly  for  the  trouble  he  was  giving  every- 
body, declaring  that  it  made  him  very  uncomfortable; 
but  even  Fanny  could  see  that  he  was  gratified. 

And  as  he  got  worse — before  he  became  too  ill  to 
think  about  it  at  all— he  had  a  muzzy  yet  pleasurable 
sense  that  everybody  in  \Yyck-on-the-Hill  and  in  the 
county  for  miles  round  was  thinlcing  of  him.  He 
knew  that  Corbett  and  Lady  Corbett  and  Markham 
and  Thurston  and  the  Hawtreys,  and  the  Kector  and 
the  Hector's  wife  and  Colonel  Grainger  had  called 
repeatedly  to  inquire  for  him.     He  was  particularly 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  273 

gratified  by  Grainger's  calling.  He  knew  that  Hitchin 
had  stopped  Horry  in  the  street  to  ask  after  him,  and 
he  was  particularly  gratified  by  that.  Old  Susan- 
jSTanna  had  come  up  from  Medlicott  to  see  him.  And 
Ralph  Bevan  called  every  day.   That  gratified  him,  too. 

The  only  person  who  was  not  allowed  to  know  any- 
thing about  his  illness  was  his  mother,  for  Mr.  Wad- 
dington  was  certain  it  would  kill  her.  Every  evening 
at  medicine  time  he  would  ask  the  same  questions : 
''My  mother  doesn't  know  yet  ?"  And :  "Anybody 
called  to-day?"  And  Fanny  would  give  him  the 
messages,  and  he  would  receive  them  with  a  gentle, 
solemn  sweetness.  You  wouldn't  have  believed, 
Barbara  said  to  herself,  that  complacency  could  take 
so  heartrending  a  form. 

And  under  it  all,  a  deeper  bliss  in.  bliss,  was  the 
thought  that  Barbara  was  thinking  about  him,  worry- 
ing about  him,  and  being,  probably,  ten  times  more 
unhappy  about  him  than  Fanny.  After  working  so 
long  by  his  side,  her  separation  from  him  would  be 
intolerable  to  Barbara;  intolerable,  very  likely,  the 
thought  that  it  was  Fanny's  turn,  now,  to  be  by  his 
side.  Every  day  she  brought  him  a  bunch  of  snow- 
drops, and  every  day,  as  the  door  closed  on  her  little 
anxious  face,  he  was  sorry  for  Barbara  shut  out  from 
his  room.     Poor  little  Barbara.     Sometimes,  when  he 


274  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

was  feeling  well  enough,  he  would  call  to  her:  "Come 
in,  Barbara."  And  she  would  come  in  and  look  at 
him  and  put  her  flowers  into  his  hand  and  say  she 
hoped  he  was  better.  And  he  would  answer:  "Not 
much  better,  Barbara.     I'm  very  ill." 

lie  even  allowed  Ralph  to  come  and  look  at  him. 
He  would  hold  his  hand  in  a  clasp  that  he  made  as 
limp  as  possible,  on  purpose,  and  would  say  in  a 
voice   artificially   weakened:     "I'm   very   ill,    Ralph." 

Dr,  Kansome  said  he  wasn't;  but  Mr.  Waddington 
knew  better.  It  was  true  that  from  time  to  time  he 
rallied  sufficiently  to  comb  his  own  hair  before 
Barbara  was  let  in  with  her  snowdrops,  and  that  he 
could  give  orders  to  Partridge  in  a  loud,  firm  tone; 
but  he  was  too  ill  to  do  more  than  whisper  huskily  to 
Barbara  and  Fanny. 

Then  when  he  felt  a  little  better  the  trained  nurse 
came,  and  with  the  sheer  excitement  of  her  coming 
Mr.  Waddington's  temperature  leapt  up  again,  and 
the  doctor  owned  that  he  didn't  like  that. 

And  Barbara  found  Fanny  in  the  library,  crying. 
She  had  been  tidying  up  his  writing-table,  going  over 
all  his  papers  with  a  feather  brush,  and  she  had  come 
on  the  manuscript  of  the  Ramblings  unfinished. 

"Fanny " 

"Barbara,  I  know  I'm  an  idiot,  but  I  simply  can- 


MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  275 

not  bear  it.  It  was  all  very  well  as  long  as  I  could 
nurse  him,  but  now  that  woman's  come  there's  nothing 
I  can  do  for  him.  .  .  .  I've — I've  never  done  any- 
thing all  my  life  for  him.  He's  always  done  every- 
thing for  me.  And  I've  been  a  bnite.  Always  laugh- 
ing at  him.  .  .  .  Think,  Barbara,  think;  for  eighteen 
years  never  to  have  taken  him  seriously.  Never  since 
I  married  him.  ...  I  believe  he's  going  to  die.  Just 
— just  to  punish  me." 

"He  isn't,"  said  Barbara  indignantly,  as  if  she  had 
never  believed  it  herself.  "The  doctor  says  he  isn't 
really  very  ill.  The  congestion  isn't  spreading.  It 
was  better  yesterday." 

"It'll  be  worse  to-night,  you  may  depend  on  it. 
The  doctor  doesn't  like  his  temperature  flying  up  and 
down  like  that." 

"It'll  go  down  again,"  said  Barbara. 

"You  don't  know  what  it'll  do,"  said  Fanny  darkly. 
"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  lamb,  such  a  lamb  as  he  is 
when  he's  ill  ?" 

"No,"  said  Barbara;  "he's  an  angel." 

"That's  just,"  said  Fanny,  "what  makes  me  feel 
he's  going  to  die.  ...  I  wish  I  were  you,  Barbara." 

"Me?" 

"Yes.  You've  really  helped  him.  He  could  never 
have  written  his  book  without  you.     His  poor  book." 


276  MR.  WADDIN^GTON"  OF  WYCK 

She  sat  stroking  it.  And  suddenly  a  horrible 
memory  overcame  her,  and  she  cried  out: 

"Oh,  my  God!     And   I've  laughed   at  that,   too!" 

Barbara  put  her  arm  round  her.  "You  didn't, 
darling.  Well,  if  you  did — it  is  a  little  funny,  you 
know.     I'm  afraid  I've  laughed  a  bit." 

"Oh,  you — that  doesn't  matter.  You  helped  to 
write  it." 

Then  Barbara  broke  out.  "Oh,  don't,  Fanny, 
don't,  don't  talk  about  his  poor  book.  I  can't  hear 
it." 

"We're  both  idiots,"   said  Fanny.     "Imbeciles." 

She  paused,  drying  her  eyes. 

"He  liked  the  snowdrops  you  brought  him,"  she 
said. 

Barbara  thought:  "And  the  snowdrops  he 
brought  me"  He  had  caught  cold  that  day,  picking 
them.  They  had  withered  in  the  glass  in  her  bed- 
room. 

She  left  Fanny,  only  to  come  upon  Horry  in  his 
agony.  Horry  stood  in  the  windovv  of  the  dining-room, 
staring  out  and  scowling  at  the  snow. 

"Damn  the  snow!"  he  said.     "It's  killed  him." 

"It  hasn't,  Horry,"  she  said;  "he'll  get  better." 

"He  won't  get  better.  If  this  beastly  frost  holds 
he  hasn't  got  a  chance." 


ME.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  277 

"BOorry  dear,  the  doctor  say8  he's  better." 

"He  doesn't.  He  says  his  temperature's  got  no 
business  to  go  up." 

"All  the  same " 

"Supposing  he  does  think  him  better.  Supposing 
he  doesn't  know.  Supposing  he's  a  bloating  idiot. 
...  I  expect  the  dear  old  pater  knows  how  he  is  a 
jolly  sight  better  than  anybody  can  tell  him.  .  .  . 
And  you  knov/  you're  woiTying  about  him  yourself. 
So's  the  mater.     She's  been  crying." 

"She's  jealous  of  the  nurse.  That's  what's  the 
matter  with  her." 

"Jealous  ?  Tosh !  That  nurse  is  an  idiot.  She's 
sent  his  temperature  up  first  thing." 

"Horry,  old  thing,  you  must  buck  up.  You 
mustn't  let  your  nerve  go  like  this." 

"Nerve?  Your  nerve  would  go  if  you  were  me. 
I  tell  you,  Barbara,  I  wouldn't  care  a  hang  about  his 
being  ill — I  mean  I  shouldn't  care  so  infernally  if  I'd 
been  decent  to  him.  .  .  .  But  you  were  right,  I  was 
a  cad,  a  swine.    Laughing  at  him." 

"So  was  I,  Horry.  I  laughed  at  him.  I'd  give 
anything  not  to  have." 

"You  didn't  matter.  .  .  ." 

He  was  silent  a  moment.     Then  he  swung  round, 


278  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

full  to  her.  His  face  burned,  his  eyes  flashed  tears; 
he  held  his  head  up  to  stop  them  falling. 

"Barbara— if  he  dies,  I'll  kill  myself." 

That  evening  Mr.  Waddington's  temperature  went 
up  another  point.  Ralph,  calling  about  nine  o'clock, 
found  Barbara  alone  in  the  library,  huddled  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  sofa,  with  her  pocket-handkerchief  beside 
her,  rolled  in  a  tight,  damp  ball.  She  started  as  he 
came  in. 

"Oh,"  she  said,   "I  thought  you  were  the  doctor." 

"Do  you  want  him?" 

"Yes.     Fanny  does.     She's  frightened." 

"Shall  I  go  and  get  him?" 

"No.  No.  They've  sent  Kimber.  Oh,  Ralph,  I'm 
frightened,  too." 

"But  he's  getting  on  all  right.  He  is  really. 
Ransome  says  so." 

"I  know.  I've  told  them  that.  But  they  won't 
believe  it.  And  /  don't  now.  He'll  die:  you'll  see 
he'll  die.     Just  because  we've  been  such  pigs  to  him." 

"Nonsense;  that  wouldn't  make  him " 

"I'm  not  so  sure.  It's  awful  to  see  him  lying  there, 
like  a  lamb — so  good — when  you  think  how  we've 
hunted  and  hounded  him." 

"He  didn't  know,  Barbara.  We  never  .  let  him 
know." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  279 

"You  don't  know  what  he  knew.  He  must  have 
seen  it." 

"He  never  sees  anything." 

"I  tell  you,  you  don't  know  what  he  sees.  .  .  . 
I'd  give  anything,  anything  not  to  have  done  it." 

"So  would  I." 

"It's  a  lesson  to  me,"  she  said,  "as  long  as  I  live, 
never  to  laugh  at  anybody  again.  Never  to  say  cruel 
things." 

"We  didn't  say  cruel  things." 

"Unkind  things." 

"Not  very  unkind." 

"We  did.    I  did.    I  said  all  the  really  beastly  ones." 

"No.  No,  you  didn't.  Not  half  as  beastly  as  I 
and  Horry  did." 

"That's  what  Horry's  thinking  now.  He's  nearly 
off  his  head  about  it." 

"Look  here,  Barbara;  you're  simply  sentimental- 
izing because  he's  ill  and  you're  sorry  for  him.  .  .  . 
You  needn't  be.  I  tell  you,  he's  enjoying  his  illness. 
...  I  don't  suppose,"  said  Ealph  thoughtfully,  "he's 
enjoyed  anything  so  much  since  the  war." 

"Doesn't  that  show  what  brutes  we've  been,  that 
he  has  to  be  ill  in  order  to  enjoy  himself?" 

"Oh,  no.  He  enjoys  himself — himself,  Barbara — 
all  the  time.     He  can't  help  enjoying  his  illness.     He 


280  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

likes  to  have  everybody  fussing  round  him  and  think- 
ing about  him." 

"That's  what  I  mean.  We  never  did  think  of  him. 
Isot  seriously.  We've  done  nothing — nothing  but 
laugh.  Why,  you're  laughing  nov7.  .  .  .  It's  horrible 
of  you,  Ralph,  when  he  may  be  dying.  ...  It  would 
serve  us  all  jolly  well  right  if  he  did  die." 

To  her  surprise  and  indignation,  Barbara  began  to 
cry.  The  hard,  damp  lump  of  pocket-handkerchief 
was  not  a  bit  of  good,  and  before  she  could  reach  out 
for  it  Ralph's  arms  were  round  her  and  he  was  kissing 
the  tears  off  one  by  one. 

"Darling,   I   didn't  think  you  really  minded " 

"What  d-did  you  th-think,  then?"  she  sobbed. 

"I  thought  you  were  playing.  A  sort,  of  variation 
of  the  game." 

"I  told  you  it  was  a  cruel  game." 

"Never  mind.  It's  all  over.  We'll  never  play  it 
again.  And  he'll  be  well  in  another  week.  .  .  .  Look 
here,  Barbara,  can't  you  leave  off  thinking  about  him 
for  a  minute?  You  know  I  love  you,  most  awfully, 
don't  you?" 

"Yes.     I  know  now  all  right." 

"And  /  know." 

"How  do  you  know  ?" 

"Because,   old  thing,  you've  never  ceased  to  hang 


ME.  WADDIXGTOX  OF  WYCK  281 

on  to  my  collar  since  I  grabbed  you.  You  can't  go 
back  on  that." 

"1  don't  want  to  go  back  on  it.  ...  I  say,  we 
always  said  he  brought  us  together,  and  he  has,  this 
time." 

When  later  that  night  Ralph  told  Fanny  of  their 
engagement  the  first  thing  she  said  was,  *'You  mustn't 
tell  him.  Not  till  he's  well  again.  In  fact,  I'd  rather 
you  didn't  tell  him  till  just  before  you're  married." 

"Why  ever  not?" 

"It  might  upset  him.  You  see,"  she  said,  "he's 
very  fond  of  Barbara." 

The  next  day  Mr.  Wadding-ton's  temperature  went 
down  to  nonnal;  and  the  next,  when  Ralph  called, 
Barbara  fairly  rushed  at  him  with  the  news. 

"He's  sitting  up,"  she  shouted,  "eating  a  piece  of 
sole." 

"Hooray!     Now  we  can  be  happy." 

The  sound  of  Fanny's  humming  came  through  the 
drawing-room  door. 


XY 


Mb.  Waddington  was  sitting  up  in  his  armchair 
before  the  bedroom  fire.  By  turning  his  head  a  little 
to  the  right  he  could  command  a  perfect  view  of 
himself  in  the  long  glass  by  the  window.  To  get  up 
and  look  at  himself  in  that  glass  had  been  the  first 
act  of  his  convalescence.  He  had  hardly  dared  to 
think  what  alterations  his  illness  might  have  made  in 
him.  He  remembered  the  horrible  sight  that  Corbett 
had  presented  after  his  influenza  last  year. 

Looking  earnestly  at  himself  in  the  glass,  he  had 
found  that  his  appearance  was,  if  anything,  improved. 
Outlines  that  he  had  missed  for  the  last  ten  years 
were  showing  up  again.  The  Postlethwaite  nose  was 
cleaner  cut.  He  was  almost  slender,  and  not  half  so 
weak  as  Fanny  said  he  ought  to  have  been.  Immo- 
bility in  bed,  his  spiritual  attitude  of  complacent 
acquiescence,  and  the  release  of  his  whole  organism 
from  the  strain  of  a  restless  intellect  had  set  him  up 
more  than  his  influenza  had   pulled  him  down;   and 

it  was  a  distinctly  more  refined  and  youthful  Wad- 

282 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  283 

dington  that  Barbara  found  sitting  in  the  armchair, 
wearing  a  royal  blue  wadded  silk  dressing-gown  and 
Fanny's  motor-scarf,  with  a  grey  mohair  shawl  over 
his  knees. 

Mr.  Waddington's  convalescence  was  altogether 
delightful  to  him,  admitting,  as  it  did,  of  sustained 
companionship  with  Barbara.  As  soon  as  it  reached 
the  armchair  stage  she  sat  with  him  for  hours  to- 
gether. She  had  finished  the  Kamblings,  and  at 
his  request  she  read  them  aloud  to  him  all  over  again 
from  beginning  to  end.  Mr.  Waddington  was  much 
gratified  by  the  impression  they  made  recited  in 
Barbara's  charming  voice;  the  voice  that  trembled  a 
little  now  and  then  with  an  emotion  that  did  her 
credit. 

"  'Come  with  me  into  the  little  sheltered  valley  of 
the  Speed.  Let  us  follow  the  brown  trout  stream 
that  goes  purling  through  the  lush  green  grass  of  the 
meadows '  " 

"I'd  no  idea,"  said  Mr.  Waddington,  "it  was  any- 
thing like  so  good  as  it  is.  We  may  congratulate  our- 
selves on  having  got  rid  of  Ealph  Bevan." 

And  in  February,  when  the  frost  broke  and  the 
spring  weather  came,  and  the  green  and  pink  and 
purple  fields  showed  up  again  through  the  mist  on  the 
hillsides,  he  went  out  driving  with  Barbara  in  his  car. 


284  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

He  wanted  to  look  again  at  the  places  of  his 
Ramhlhigs,  and  he  wanted  Barbara  to  look  at  them 
with  him.  It  was  the  reward  he  had  promised  her 
for  what  he  called  her  dreary,  mechanical  job  of 
copying  and  copying. 

Barbara  noticed  the  curious,  exalted  expression  of 
his  face  as  he  sat  up  beside  her  in  the  car,  looking 
noble.  She  put  it  down  partly  to  that  everlasting  self- 
satisfaction  that  made  his  inward  happiness,  and 
partly  to  sheer  physical  exhilaration  induced  by  speed. 
She  felt  something  like  it  herself  as  they  tore  switch- 
backing  up  and  down  the  hills :  an  excitement  whipped 
up  on  the  top  of  the  deep  happiness  that  came  from 
thinking  about  Ralph.  And  there  was  hardly  a 
moment  when  she  didn't  think  about  him.  It  made 
her  eyes  shine  and  her  mouth  quiver  with  a  peculiarly 
blissful   smile. 

And  Mr.  Waddington  looked  at  Barbara  where  she 
sat  tucked  up  beside  him.  He  noticed  the  shining  and 
the  quivering,  and  he  thought — what  he  always  had 
thought  of  Barbara.      Only  now  he  was  certain. 

The  child  loved  him.  She  had  been  fascinated  and 
frightened,  frightened  and  fascinated  by  him  from 
the  first  hour  that  she  had  known  him.  But  she  was 
not  afraid  of  him  any  more.  She  had  left  off  strug- 
gling.    She  was  giving  herself  up  like  a  child  to  this 


MR.  WADDINGTON^  OF  WYCK  285 

feeling,  the  nature  of  which,  in  her  child's  innocence, 
she  did  not  yet  know.  But  he  knew.  He  had  always 
known  it. 

So  much  one  half  of  Mr.  Waddington's  mind 
admitted,  while  the  other  half  denied  that  he  had 
known  it  with  any  certainty.  It  went  on  saying  to 
itself:  ''^Blind.  Blind.  Yet  I  might  have  known 
it,"  as  if  he  hadn't 

He  had,  of  coui"se,  kept  it  before  him  as  a  possi- 
bility (no  part  of  him  denied  that).  And  he  had  used 
tact.  He  had  handled  a  delicate  situation  with  a 
consummate  delicacy.  He  had  done  everything  an 
honourable  man  could  do.  But  there  it  was.  There 
it  had  been  from  the  day  that  he  had  come  into  the 
house  and  found  her  there.  And  the  thing  was  too 
strong  for  Barbara.  Poor  child,  he  might  have  known 
it  would  be.  And  it  was  too  strong  for  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton,  It  wasn't  his  fault.  It  was  Fanny's  fault, 
having  the  girl  there  and  forcing  them  to  that  danger- 
ous  intimacy. 

Before  his  illness  Mr.  Waddington  had  resisted 
successfully  any  little  inclination  he  might  have  had 
to  take  advantage  of  the  situation.  He  conceived  his 
inner  life  for  the  last  nine  months  as  consisting  of  a 
series  of  resistances.  He  conceived  the  episode  of 
Elise  as  a  safety  valve,   natural  but  unpleasant,   for 


286  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

the  emotions  caused  by  Barbara :  the  substitution  .  of 
a  permissible  for  an  impermissible  lapse.  It  had  been 
incredible  to  him  that  he  should  make  love  to  Barbara. 

But  one  effect  of  his  influenza  was  apparent.  It 
had  lowered  his  resistance,  and,  lowering  it,  had 
altered  his  whole  moral  perspective  and  his  scale  of 
values,  till  one  morning  in  April,  walking  with 
Barbara  in  the  garden  that  smelt  of  wallflowers  and 
violets,  he  became  aware  that  Barbara  was  as  necessary 
to  him.  as  he  was  to  Barbara. 

Her  easel  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  lawn  with  an 
unfinished  water-colour  drawing  of  the  house  on  it. 
He  paused  before  it,  smiling  his  tender,  sentimental 
smile. 

"There's  one  thing  I  regret,  Barbara — that  I  didn't 
have  your  drawings  for  my  Cotswold  book." 

The  Ramblings,  thanks  to  unproclaimed  activities 
of  Ralph  Bevan,  were  at  that  moment  in  the  press. 

"Why  should  you,"  she  said,  "if  you  didn't  care 
about  them?" 

"It's  inconceivable  that  I  shouldn't  have  cared. 
...  I  was  blind.  Blind.  .  .  .  Well,  some  day,  if  we 
ever  have  an  edition  de  luxe,  they  shall  appear  in  that.'^ 

"Some  day!" 

She  hadn't  the  heart  to  tell  him  that  the  drawings 
had  another  destination,  for  as  yet  the  existence  of 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  287 

Ralph's  book  was  a  secret.  They  had  agreed  that 
nothing  should  disturb  Mr.  Waddington's  pleasure  in 
the  publication  of  his  Ramblings — his  poor  Ram- 
blings. 

"One  has  to  pay  for  blindness  in  this  world,"  he 
said. 

"A  lot  of  people'll  be  let  in  at  that  rate.  I  don't 
suppose  five  will  care  a  rap  about  my  drawings." 

"I    wasn't    thinking    only    of    your    drawings,    my 

dear."      He  pondered.  .  .  .  "Fanny   tells  me   you're 

going  to  have  a  birthday.     You're  quite  a  little  April 

girl,  aren't  you?" 

2 

It  was  Barbara's  twenty-fourth  birthday,  and  the 
day  of  her  adoption.  It  had  begim,  unpropitiously, 
with  something  very  like  a  dispute  between  Horatio 
and  Fanny. 

Mr.  Waddington  had  gone  up  to  London  the  day 
before,  and  had  returned  with  a  pearl  pendant  for 
Fanny,  and  a  green  jade  necklace  for  Barbara  (not 
yet  presented)  and  a  canary  yellow  waistcoat  for 
himself. 

And  not  only  the  waistcoat 

On  the  birthday  morning  Fanny  had  called  out  to 
Barbara  as  she  passed  her  bedroom  door: 

"Barbara,   come  here." 


288  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

Fanny  was  staring,  fascinated,  at  four  pairs  of  silk 
pyjamas  spread  out  before  her  on  the  bed.  Remark- 
able pyjamas,  of  a  fierce  magenta  with  forked  light- 
ning in  orange  running  about  all  over  them. 

"Good  God,  Fanny!" 

"You  may  well  say  'Good  God.'  What  would  you 
say  if  you'd  got  to  .  .  .  ?  I'm  not  a  nervous  woman, 
but " 

"It's  a  mercy  he  didn't  get  them  eighteen  years 
ago,"  said  Barbara,  "or  Horry  might  have  been  bom 
an  idiot." 

"Yellow  waistcoats  are  all  very  well,"  said  Fanny. 
"But  what  can  he  have  been  thinldng  of?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Barbara.  Somehow  the  pat- 
tern called  up,  irresistibly,  the  image  of  Mrs.  Levitt. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,   "he  thinks  he's  Jupiter." 

"Well,  I'm  not  What's-her-name,  and  I  don't  want 
to  be  blasted.  So  I'll  put  them  somewhere  where  he 
can't  find  them." 

At  that  moment  they  had  heard  Mr.  Waddington 
coming  through  his  dressing-room  and  Barbara  had 
run  away  by  the  door  into  the  corridor. 

"Who  took  those  things  out  of  my  wardrobe?"  he 
said.  He  was  gazing,  dreamily,  affectionately  almost, 
at  the  pyjamas. 

"I  did." 


ME.  WADDIXGTON  OF  WYCK  289 

"And  what  for?" 

"To  look  at  thein.  Can  you  wonder?  Horatio,  if 
you  wear  them  I'll  apply  for  a  separation." 

"You  needn't  worry." 

There  was  a  queer  look  in  his  face,  significant  and 
furtive.  And  Fanny's  mind,  with  one  of  its  rapid 
flights,  darted  oif  from  the  pyjamas. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  Barbara?"  she 
said. 

"Do  about  her?" 

"Yes.  You  know  we  were  going  to  adopt  her  if 
we  liked  her  enough.  And  we  do  like  her  enough, 
don't  we?" 

"I  have  no  paternal  feeling  for  Barbara,"  said  Mr. 
Waddington.  "The  parental  relation  does  not  appeal 
to  me  as  desirable  or  suitable." 

"I  should  have  thought,  considering  her  age  and 
your  age,  it  was  very  suitable  indeed." 

"Not  if  it  entails  obligations  that  I  might  regret." 

"You're  going  to  provide  for  her,  aren't  you  ? 
That  isn't  an  obligation,   surely,   you'll  regret?" 

"I  can  provide  for  her  without  adopting  her." 

"How?  It's  no  good  just  leaving  her  something 
in  your  will." 

"I  shall  continue  half  her  salary,"  said  Mr.  Wad- 
dington, "as  an  allowance." 


290  ME.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

"Yes.  But  will  you  give  her  a  marriage  portion 
if  she  marries?" 

He  was  silent.     His  mind  reeled  with  the  blow. 

"If  she  marries,"  he  said,  "with  mj  consent  and 
my  approval — yes." 

"If  that  isn't  a  parental  attitude!  And  supposing 
she  doesn't?" 

"She  isn't  thinking  of  marrying." 

"You  don't  know  what  she's  thinking  of." 

"Neither,  I  venture  to  say,  do  you." 

"Well — I  don't  see  how  I  can  adopt  her,  if  you 
don't." 

"I  didn't  say  I  wouldn't  adopt  her." 

"Then  you  will?" 

He  snapped  back  at  her  with  an  incredible  ferocity. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to.     Don't  worry  me!" 

He  then  lifted  up  the  pyjamas  from  the  bed  and 
carried  them  into  his  dressing-room.  Through  the 
open  door  she  saw  him,  mounted  on  a  chair,  laying 
them  out,  tenderly,  on  the  top  shelf  of  the  wardrobe: 
as  if  he  were  storing  them  for  some  mysterious  and 
romantic  purpose  in  which  Fanny  was  not  included. 

"Perhaps,  after  all,"  she  thought,  "he  only  bought 
them  because  they  make  him  feel  young." 

All  the  morning,  that  morning  of  Barbara's  birth- 
day    and     adoption     Mr.     Waddington's     thoughtful 


MR.  WADDIXGTOX  OF  WYCK  291 

gloom  continued.     And  in  the  afternoon  he  shut  him- 
self up  in  his  library  and  gave  orders  that  ho  was  not 

to  be  disturbed. 

3 

Barbara  was  in  the  morning-room. 

They  had  given  her  the  morning-room  for  a  study, 
and  she  was  alone  in  it,  amusing  herself  with  her 
pocket  sketch-book. 

The  sketch-book  was  Barbara's  and  Ralph's  secret. 
Sometimes  it  lived  for  days  with  Ralph  at  the  White 
Hart.  Sometimes  it  lived  with  Barbara,  in  her  coat 
pocket,  or  in  her  bureau  under  lock  and  key.  She 
was  obsessed  with  the  fear  that  some  day  she  would 
leave  it  about  and  Fanny  would  find  it,  or  Mr. 
Waddington.  Or  any  minute  Mr.  Waddington  might 
come  on  her  and  catch  her  with  it.  It  would  be 
awful  if  she  were  caught.  For  that  remarkable  col- 
lection contained  several  pen-and-ink  drawings  of 
Mr.  Waddington,  and  Barbara  added  to  their  num- 
ber daily. 

But  at  the  moment,  the  long  interval  between  an 
unusually  early  birthday  tea  and  an  unusually  late 
birthday  dinner,  she  was  safe.  Fanny  had  gone  over 
to  Medlicott  in  the  car.  Mr.  Waddington  was  tucked 
away  in  his  library,  reading  in  perfect  innocence  and 
simplicity  and  peace.    It  wasn't  even  likely  that  Ralph 


292  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

would  turn  up,  for  he  bad  gone  over  to  Oxford,  and 
it  was  on  his  account  that  the  birthday  dinner  was 
put  off  till  half-past  eight.  There  would  be  hours  and 
hours. 

She  had  just  finished  the  last  of  three  drawings  of 
Mr.  Wadding-ton :  Mr.  Waddington  standing  up  before 
the  long  looking-glass  in  his  new  pyjamas;  Mr. 
Waddington  appearing  in  the  doorway  of  Fanny's 
bedroom  as  Jupiter,  with  forked  lightning  zig-zagging 
out  of  him  into  every  corner;  Mr.  Waddington  stoop- 
ing to  Climb  into  his  bed,  a  broad  back  view  with 
lightnings  blazing  out  of  it. 

And  it  was  that  moment  that  Mr.  Waddington 
chose  to  come  in  to  present  the  gTeen  jade  necklace. 
He  was  wearing  his  canary  yellow  waistcoat. 

Barbara  closed  her  sketch-book  hurriedly  and  laid 
it  on  the  table.  She  kept  one  arai  over  it  while  she 
received  and  opened  the  leather  case  where  the  green 
necklace  lay  on  its  white  cushion. 

"For  rry&'l  Oh,  it's  too  heavenly.  How  awfully 
sweet  of  you." 

"Do  you  like  it,  Barbara  ?" 

"I  love  it." 

Compunction  stung  her  when  she  thought  of  her 
drawings,  especially  the  one  where  he  was  getting 
into   bed.      She    said   to   herself:      "I'll   never    do    it 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  293 

a^ain.  T^Tever  again.  .  .  .  And  I  won't  show  it  to 
Ralph." 

"Put  it  on,"  he  commanded,  "and  let  me  see  you 
in  it." 

She  lifted  it  from  the  case.  She  raised  her  arms 
and  clasped  it  round  her  neck ;  she  went  to  the  looking- 
glass.  And,  after  the  first  rapt  moment  of  admiration, 
Mr.  Waddington  possessed  himself  of  the  uncovered 
sketch-hook.  Barbara  saw  him  in  the  looking-glass. 
She  turned,  with  a  cry : 

"You  mustn't!     Y'^ou  mustn't  look  at  it" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  don't  let  anybody  see  my  sketches." 

"You'll  let  me." 

"I  wont!"  She  dashed  at  him,  clutching  his  arm 
and  hanging  her  weight  on  it.  He  shook  himself 
free  and  raised  the  sketch-book  high  above  her  head. 
She  jumped  up,  tearing  at  it,  but  his  grip  held. 

He  delighted  in  his  power.     He  laughed. 

"Give  it  me  this  instant,"  she  said. 

"'Aha!     She's  got  her  little  secrets,  has  she?" 

"Yes.  Yes.  They're  all  there.  You've  no  busi- 
ness to  look  at  them." 

He  caracoled  heavily,  dodging  her  attack,  enjoy- 
ing the  youthful  violence  of  the  struggle. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "ask  me  nicely." 


294  ME.  WADDIXGTON"  OF  WYCK 

"Please,  then.     Please  give  it  me." 

He  gave  it,  bowing  profoundly  over  her  hand  as 
she  took  it. 

"I  wouldn't  look  into  vour  dear  little  secrets  for 
the  world,"  he  said. 

They  sat  down  amicably. 

"You'll  let  me  stay  with  you  a  little  while?" 

"Please  do.    Won't  you  have  one  of  my  cigarettes  ?" 

He  took  one,  turning  it  in  his  fingers  and  smiling 
at  it — a  lingering,  sentimental  smile. 

"I  thinlv  I  know  your  secret,"  he  said  presently. 

"Do  you?"     Her  mind  rushed  to  Ralph. 

"I  think  so.     And  I  think  you  know  mine." 

"Yours?" 

"Yes.  Mine.  We  can't  go  on  living  like  this,  so 
close  to  each  other,  without  knowing.  We  may  try  to 
keep  things  from  each  other,  but  we  can't.  I  feel 
as  if  you'd  seen  everything." 

She  said  to  herself:  "He's  thinking  of  Mrs. 
Levitt." 

"I  don't  suppose  I've  seen  anything  that  matters," 
she  said. 

"You've  seen  what  my  life  is  here.  You  can't  have 
helped  seeing  that  Fanny  and  I  don't  hit  it  off  very 
well  together." 

"Fanny's  an  angel." 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  295 

"You  dear  little  loyal  thing.  .  .  .  Yes,  she's  an 
angel.  Too  much  of  an  angel  for  a  mere  man.  I 
made  my  grand  mistake,  Barbara,  when  I  married 
her." 

"She  doesn't  think  so,  anyhow." 

"I'm  not  so  sure.  Fanny  knows  she's  got  hold  of 
something  that's  too — too  big  for  her.  What's  wrong 
with  Fanny  is  that  she  can't  grasp  things.  She's 
afraid  of  them.  And  she  can't  take  serious  things 
seriously.  It's  no  use  expecting  her  to.  I've  left  off 
expecting." 

"You  don't  understand  Fanny  one  bit." 

"My  dear  child,  I've  been  married  to  her  more  tban 
seventeen  years,  and  I'm  not  a  fool.  You've  seen  for 
yourself  how  she  takes  things.  How  she  belittles 
everything  with  her  everlasting  laugh,  laugh,  laugh. 
In  time  it  gets  on  your  nerves." 

"It  would,"  said  Barbara,  "if  you  don't  see  the 
fun  of  it." 

"You  can't  expect  me  to  see  the  fun  of  my  own 
funeral." 

"Funeral?     Is  it  as  bad  as  all  that?" 

"It  has  been  as  bad  as  all  that — Barbara." 

He  brooded. 

"And  then  j^ou  came,  with  your  sweetness.  And 
your  little  serious  face " 


296  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Is  my  face  serious  ?" 

"Very.  To  me.  Other  people  may  think  you 
frivolous  and  amusing.  I  daresay  you  are  amusing 
— to  them." 

"I  hope  so." 

"You  hope  so  because  you  want  to  hide  your  real 
self  from  them.  But  you  can't  hide  it  from  me.  I've 
seen  it  all  the  time,  Barbara." 

"Are  you  sure  ?" 

"Quite,  quite  sure." 

"I  wish  I  knew  what  it  looked  like." 

"That's  the  beauty  and  charm  of  you,  my  dear, 
that  you  don't  know." 

"What  a  nice  waistcoat  you've  got  on,"  said 
Barbara. 

He  looked  gratified.  "I'm  glad  you  like  it.  I  put  it 
on  for  your  birthday." 

"You  mean,"  she  said,  "my  adoption  day." 

He  winced. 

"It  is  good,"  she  said,  "of  you  and  Fanny  to  adopt 
me.  But  it  won't  be  for  very  long.  And  I  want  to 
earn  my  own  living  all  the  same." 

"I  can't  think  of  letting  you  do  that." 

"I  must.  It  won't  make  any  difference  to  my 
adoption." 

He  scowled.     So  repugnant  to  him  was  this  sub- 


ME.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  297 

ject  that  he  judged  it  would  be  equally  distasteful  to 
Barbara. 

"It  was  Fanny's  idea,"  he  said. 

"I  thought  it  would  be." 

"You  didn't  expect  me  to  have  paternal  feelings 
for  you,  Barbara  ?" 

"I  didn't  expect  you  to  have  any  feelings  at  all." 

The  wound  made  him  start.  "My  poor  child,  what 
a  terrible  thing  for  you  to  say." 

"Why  terrible?" 

"Because  it  shows — it  shows And  it  isn't  tine. 

Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  what's  been  going  on 
inside  you?  I  was  blind  to  myself,  my  dear,  but  I 
saw  through  you." 

"Saw  through  me?*'     She  thought  again  of  Ralph. 

"Through  and  through." 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  so  transparent.  But  I  don't 
see  that  it  matters  much  if  you  did." 

He  smiled  at  her  delicious  naivete. 

"No.  Nothing  matters.  iSTothing  matters,  Bar- 
bara, except  our  caring.  At  least  we're  wise  enough 
to  know  that." 

"I  shouldn't  have  thought,"  she  said,  "it  would  take 
much  wisdom." 

"More  than  you  think,  my  child;   more  than  you 


298  MR.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK 

think.  You've  only  got  to  be  wise  for  yourself.  I've 
got  to  be  wise  for  both  of  us." 

She  thought :  "Heavy  parent.  That  comes  of  being 
adopted." 

"When  it  comes  to  the  point,"  she  said,  "one  can 
only  be  wise  for  oneself." 

"I'm  glad  you  see  that.  It  makes  it  much  easier 
for  me." 

"It  does.  You  mustn't  think  you're  responsible 
for  me  just  because  you've  adopted  me." 

"Don't  talk  to  me  about  adoption!  When  you 
know  perfectly  well  what  I  did  it  for." 

"Why — what  did  you  do  it  for  ?" 

"To  make  things  safe  for  us.  To  keep  Fanny  from 
knowing.  To  keep  myself  from  knowing,  Barbara. 
To  keep  you.  .  .  .  But  it's  too  late  to  camouflage  it. 
We  know  where  we  stand  now." 

"I  don't  think  I  do." 

"You  do.     You  do." 

Mr.  Waddington  tossed  his  cigarette  into  the  fire 
with  a  passionate  gesture  of  abandonment.  He  came 
to  her.  She  saw  his  coming.  She  saw  it  chiefly  as 
the  approach  of  a  canary  yellow  waistcoat.  She  fixed 
her  attention  on  the  waistcoat  as  if  it  were  the  centre 
of  her  own  mental  equilibrium. 

There  was  a  bend  in  the  waistcoat.     Mr.  Wadding- 


MR.  WADDIXGTOX  OF  WYCK  299 

ton  was  stxx)ping  over  her  with  his  face  peering  into 
hers.  She  sat  motionless,  held  under  his  face  by 
curiosity  and  fear.  The  whole  phenomenon  seemed 
to  her  incredible.  Too  incredible  as  yet  to  call  for 
protest.  It  was  as  if  it  were  not  happening;  as  if  she 
were  merely  waiting  to  see  it  happen  before  she  cried 
out.     Yet  she  was  frightened. 

This  state  lasted  for  one  instant.  The  next  she 
was  in  his  arms.  His  mouth,  thrust  out  under  the 
big,  rough  moustache,  was  running  over  her  face,  like 
— like — while  she  pressed  her  hands  hard  against  the 
canary  yellow  waistcoat,  pushing  him  off,  her  mind 
disengaged  itself  from  the  struggle  and  reported — 
like  a  vacuum  cleaner.     That  was  it.     Vacuum  cleaner. 

He  gave  back.  There  was  no  evil  violence  in  him, 
and  she  got  on  her  feet. 

"How  could  you?"  she  cried.  "How  could  you.  be 
such  a  perfect  pig?" 

"Don't  say  that  to  me,  Barbara,  Even  in  fun. 
.  .  .  You  know  you  love  me." 

"I  don't.     I  don't" 

"You  do.  You  know  you  do.  You  know  you  want 
me  to  take  you  in  my  arms.  Why  be  so  cruel  to 
yourself  ?" 

"To  myself?  I'd  kill  myself  before  I  let  you.  .  .  . 
Why,  I'd  kill  you." 


300  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"Wo.  No.  No.  You  only  think  you  would,  you 
little  spitfire." 

He  had  given  back  altogether  and  now  leaned 
against  the  chimneypiece,  not  beaten,  not  abashed,  but 
smiling  at  her  in  a  triumphant  certitude.  For  so  long 
the  glamour  of  his  illusion  held  him. 

"Nothing  you  can  say,  Barbara,  will  persuade  me 
that  you  don't  care  for  me." 

"Then  you  must  be  mad.     Mad  as  a  hatter." 

"All  men  go  mad  at  times.  You  must  make  allow- 
ances.    Listen " 

"I  won't  listen.  I  don't  want  to  hear  another 
word." 

She  was  going. 

He  saw  her  intention ;  but  he  was  nearer  to  the  door 
than  she  was,  and  by  a  quick  though  ponderous  move- 
ment he  got  there  first.  He  stood  before  her  with  his 
back  to  the  door.  (He  had  the  wild  thought  of  locking 
it,  but  chivalry  forbade  him.) 

"You  can  go  in  a  minute,"  he  said.  "But  you've 
got  to  listen  to  me  first.  You've  got  to  be  fair  to  me. 
I  may  be  mad ;  but  if  I  didn't  care  for  you — madly — 
I  wouldn't  have  supposed  for  an  instant  that  you 
cared  for  me.  I  wouldn't  have  thought  of  such  a 
thing." 

'But  I  don't,  I  tell  you." 


ii^ 


MR.  WADDIXGTOX  OF  WYCK  301 

"And  I  tell  you,  you  do.  Do  you  suppose  after  all 
you've  done  for  me " 

"I  haven't  done  anvthinff." 

''Done  ?  Look  at  the  way  you've  v7orked  for  me. 
I've  never  known  anything  like  your  devotion,  Bar- 
bara." 

^'Oh,  that!    It  was  only  my  job." 

"Was  it  your  job  to  save  me  from  that  horrible 
woman  ?" 

"Oh,  yes;  it  was  all  in  the  day's  work." 

"My  dear  Barbara,  no  woman  ever  does  a  day's 
work  like  that  for  a  man  unless  she  cares  for  him. 
And  unless  she  wants  him  to  care  for  her." 

"As  it  happens,  it  was  Fanny  I  cared  for.  I  was 
thinking  of  Fanny  all  the  time.  ...  If  you'd  think 
about  Fanny  more  and  about  !Mrs.  Levitt  and  people 
less,  it  would  be  a  good  thing." 

"It's  too  late  to  think  about  Fanny  now.  That's 
only  your  sweetness  and  goodness." 

"Please  don't  lie.  If  you  really  thought  me  sweet 
and  good  you  wouldn't  expect  me  to  be  a  substitute 
for  Mrs.  Levitt" 

"Don't  talk  about  Mrs.  Levitt.  Do  you  suppose  I 
think  of  you  in  the  same  sentence  ?  That  was  a  differ- 
ent thing  altogether." 

"Was  it?    Was  it  so  verv  different?" 


302  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

He  saw  that  she  remembered.  "It  was.  A  man 
may  lose  his  head  ten  times  over  without  losing  his 
heart  once.  If  it's  Mrs.  Levitt  you're  thinking  about, 
you  can  put  that  out  of  your  mind  for  ever." 

"It  isn't  only  Mrs.  Levitt.  There's  Ralph  Bevan. 
You've  forgotten  Ralph  Bevan." 

"What  has  Ralph  Bevan  got  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"Simply  this,  that  I'm  engaged  to  be  married  to 
him." 

"To  be  married?  To  be  married  to  Ralph  Bevan? 
Oh,  Barbara,  why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"Ralph  didn't  want  me  to,  till  nearer  the  time." 

"The  time.  .  .  .  Did  it  come  to  that?" 

"It  did,"  said  Barbara. 

He  moved  from  the  doorway  and  began  walking 
up  and  down  the  room.  She  might  now  have  gone 
out,  but  she  didn't  go.  She  liad  to  see  what  he  would 
make  of  it. 

At  his  last  turn  he  faced  her  and  stood  still. 

"Poor  child,"  he  said,  "so  that's  what  I've  driven 
you  to?" 

Amazement  kept  her  silent. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  "we  must  go  through  this 
together." 

Amazement  made  her  sit  down.  Certainly  they 
must  go  through  it,  to  see  what  he  would  look  like  at 


MR.  WADDTXGTON  OF  WYCK  303 

the  end.  He  was  unsurpassable.  She  mustn't  miss 
him. 

"Look  here,  Barbara."  He  spoke  in  a  tone  of 
forced,  unnatural  calm.  ''I  don't  think  you  qui'te 
understand  the  situation.  I'm  sure  you  don't  realize 
for  one  moment  bow  serious  it  is." 

"I  don't.  You  mustn't  expect  me  to  take  it 
seriously." 

"That's  because  you  don't  take  yourself  seriously 
enough,  dear.  In  some  ways  you're  singularly  humble. 
I  don't  believe  you  really  know  how  deep  this  thing 
has  gone  with  me,  or  you  wouldn't  have  talked  about 
Mrs.  Levitt.  .  .  . 

"...  It's  life  and  death,  Barbara.  Life  and  death. 
.  .  .  I'll  make  a  confession.  It  wasn't  serious  at  first. 
It  wasn't  love  at  first  sight.  But  it's  gone  all  the 
deeper  for  that.  I  didn't  know  how  deep  it  was  till 
the  other  day.  And  I  had  so  much  to  think  of.  So 
many  claims.     Fanny " 

"Yes.     Don't  forget  Fanny." 

"I  am  not  forgetting  her.  Fanny  isn't  going  to 
mind  as  you  think  she  minds.  As  you  would  mind 
yourself  if  you  were  in  her  place.  Things  don't  go 
so  deep  with  Fanny  as  all  that.  .  .  .  And  she  isn't 
going  to  hold  me  against  my  will.  She's  not  that 
sort.  .  .  .  Listen,  now.     Please  listen." 


304  ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

Barbara  sat  still,  listening.  She  would  let  him  go 
to  the  end  of  his  tether. 

'^I'll  confess.  In  the  beginning  I  hadn't  thought 
of  a  divorce.  I  couldn't  bear  the  idea  of  going  through 
all  that  unpleasantness.  But  I'd  go  through  it  ten 
times  over  rather  than  that  you  should  marry  Ealph 
Bevan.  .  .  .  Wait  now.  .  .  .  Before  I  spoke  to  you 
to-day  I'd  made  up  my  mind  to  ask  Fanny  to  divorce 
me.  I  know  she'll  do  it.  Your  name  shan't  be 
allowed  to  appear.  The  moment  I  get  her  consent  we'll 
go  oif  together  somewhere.  Italy  or  the  Riviera.  I've 
got  everything  planned,  everything  ready.  I  saw  to  that 
when  I  was  in  London.     I've  bought  everything " 

She  saw  forked  lightnings  on  a  magenta  Wadding- 
ton. 

''What  are  you  laughing  at,  Barbara?" 

He  stood  over  her,  distressed.  Was  Barbara  going 
to  treat  him  to  a  fit  of  hysterics? 

"Don't  laugh.     Don't  be  silly,  child." 

But  Barbara  went  on  laughing,  with  her  face  in 
the  cushions,  abandoned  to  her  vision.  From  far  up 
the  park  they  heard  the  sound  of  Ejmber's  hooter, 
then  the  grinding  of  the  car,  with  Fanny  in  it,  on  the 
gravel  outside.  Barbara  sat  up  suddenly  and  dried 
her  eyes. 

They  stared  at  each  other,  the  stare  of  accomplice3. 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  305 

"Come,   child,"   he   said,   "pull  yourself  together." 

Barbara  got  up  and  looked  in  the  glass  and  saw  the 
gi'een  jade  necklace  hanging  on  her  still.  She  took 
it  off  and  laid  it  on  the  table  beside  the  forgotten 
sketch-book. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "you  must  have  meant  this  for 
Mrs.  Levitt.  But  you  may  thank  your  stars  it's  only 
me,  this  time." 

He  pretended  not  to  hear  her,  not  to  see  the  necklace, 
not  to  know  that  she  was  going  from  him.  She  stood 
a  moment  with  her  back  to  the  door,  facing  him.  It 
was  her  turn  to  stand  there  and  be  listened  to. 

"Mr.  Waddington,"  she  said,  "some  people  might 
think  you  wicked.     I  only  think  you  funny." 

He  drew  himself  up  and  looked  noble. 

"Funny  ?  If  that's  your  idea  of  me,  you  had  better 
marry  Ralph  Bevan." 

"I  almost  think  I  had." 

And  she  laughed  again.  Xot  Mrs.  Levitt's  laughter, 
gross  with  experience.  He  had  borne  that  without 
much  pain.  Girl's  laughter  it  was,  young  and  inno- 
cent and  pure,  and  ten  times  more  cruel. 

"You  don't  know,"  she  said,  "you  don't  know  how 
funny  you  are,"  and  left  him. 

Mr.  Waddington  took  up  the  necklace  and  kissed  it. 
He  rubbed  it  against  his  cheek  and  kissed  it.     A  slip 


306  ME.  WADDINGTOIs'  OF  WYCK 

of  paper  had  fallen  from  the  table  to  the  floor.  He 
knew  what  was  written  on  it :  ''From  Horatio  Bysshe 
Waddington  to  his  Little  April  Girl."  He  took  it  up 
and  put  it  in  his  pocket.     He  took  up  the  sketch-book. 

"The  little  thing,"  he  thought.  "Now,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  her  ridiculous  jealousy  of  Elise — if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Fanny — if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  little  thing's 

sweetness  and  goodness "    Her  goodness.     She  was 

a  saint.  A  saint.  It  was  Barbara's  virtue,  not  Bar- 
bara, that  had  repulsed  him. 

This  was  the  only  credible  explanation  of  her 
behaviour,  the  only  one  he  could  bear  to  live  with. 

He  opened  the  sketch-book. 

It  was  Fanny,  coming  in  that  instant,  who  saved 
him  from  the  worst. 

When  she  had  restored  the  sketch-book  to  its  refuge 
in  the  bureau  and  locked  it  in,  she  turned  to  him. 

"Horatio,"  she  said,  "as  Ralph's  coming  to  dinner 
to-night  I'd  better  tell  you  that  he  and  Barbara  are 
engaged  to  be  married." 

"She  has  told  me  herself.  .  .  .  That  child,  Fanny, 
is  a  saint.     A  little  saint." 

"How  did  you  find  that  out?  Do  you  think  it 
takes  a  saint  to  marry  Ralph?" 

"I  think  it  takes  a  saint  to — to  marry  Ralph,  since 
you  put  it  that  way." 


ME.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  307 

4 

"Deaeest  Fanny: 

"I'm  sorry,  but  Mr.  Waddington  and  I  have  had  a 
scrap.  It's  made  things  impossible,  and  I'm  going  to 
Ralph.  He'll  turn  out  for  me,  so  there  won't  be  any 
scandal. 

"You  know  how  awfully  I  love  you,  that's  why 
you'll  forgive  me  if  I  don't  come  back. 

"Always  your  loving 

"Baebaba." 

"P.S. — I'm  frightfully  sorry  about  my  birthday 
dinner.  But  I  don't  feel  birthdayish  or  dinnerish, 
either.     I  want  Ralph.     Nothing  but  Ralph." 

That  would  make  Fanny  think  it  was  Ralph  they 
had  quarrelled  about.  Barbara  put  this  note  on  Fanny's 
dressing-table.  Then  she  went  up  to  the  White  Hart, 
to  Ralph  Bevan.  She  waited  in  his  sitting-room  till  he 
came  back  from  Oxford. 

"Hallo,  old  thing,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Ralph — do  you  awfully  mind  if  we  don't  dine  at 
the  Manor?" 

"If  we  don't— why?" 

"Because  I've  left  them.  And  I  don't  want  to  go 
back.     Do  you  think  I  could  get  a  room  here?" 

"What's  up?" 


308  MK.  WADDIXGTOX  OF  WYCK 

"I've  had  a  simply  awful  scrap  with  Waddy,  and 
I  can't  stick  it  there.  Between  us  we've  made  it 
impossible." 

"What's  he  been  up  to?" 

"Oh,  never  mind." 

"He's  been  making  love  to  you." 

"If  you  call  it  making  love." 

"The  old  swine!" 

As  he  said  it,  he  felt  the  words  and  his  own  fury 
fall  short  of  the  fantastic  quality  of  Waddington. 

"No.  He  isn't."  (Barbara  felt  it.)  "He  was 
simply  more  funny  than  you  can  imagine.  .  .  .  He 
had  on  a  canary  yellow  waistcoat." 

In  spite  of  his  fury  he  smiled. 

"I  think  he'd  bought  it  for  that." 

"Oh,  Barbara,  what  he  must  have  looked  like!" 

"Yes.  If  only  you  could  have  seen  him.  But  that's 
the  worst  of  all  his  best  things.  They  only  happen 
when  you're  alone  with  him." 

"You  remember — we  wondered  whether  he'd  do  it 
again,  whether  he'd  go  one  better?" 

"Yes,  Ralph.     We  little  thought  it  would  be  me." 

"How  he  does  surpass  himself!" 

"The  funniest  thing  was  he  thought  I  was  in  love 
with  him." 

"He  didn't!" 


ME.  WADDINGTOX  OF  WYCK  309 

"He  did.  Because  of  the  way  I'd  worked  for  him. 
He  thought  that  proved  it." 

"Yes.  Yes.  I  suppose  he  would  think  it.  .  .  . 
Look  here — he  didn't  do  anything,  did  he?" 

"He  kissed  me.     TJidt  wasn't  funny." 

"The  putrid  old  sinner.  If  he  wasn't  so  old  I'd 
wring  his  neck  for  him." 

"No,  no.  That's  all  wrong.  It's  not  the  way  we 
agreed  to  take  him.  We'd  think  it  funny  enough  if 
he'd  done  it  to  somehody  else.  It's  pure  accident  that 
it's  me." 

"No  doubt  that's  the  proper  philosophic  view.  I 
wonder  whether  Mrs.  Levitt  takes  it." 

"Ralph — it  wasn't  a  bit  like  his  Mrs.  Levitt  stunt. 
The  awful  thing  was  he  really  meant  it.  He'd  planned 
it  all  out.  We  were  to  go  off  together  to  the  Riviera, 
and  he  was  to  wear  his  canary  waistcoat." 

"Did  he  say  that?" 

"No.  But  you  could  see  he  thought  it.  And  he 
was  going  to  get  Fanny  to  divorce  him." 

"Good  God!     He  went  as  far  as  that?" 

"As  far  as  that.  He  was  so  cocksure,  you  see.  I'm 
afraid  it's  been  a  bit  of  a  shock  to  him." 

"Well,  it's  a  thundering  good  thing  I've  got  a  job 
at  last." 

"Have  you  ?" 


310  MR.  WADDINGTON"  OF  WYCK 

"Yes.  We  can  get  married  the  day  after  to-morrow 
if  we  like.  Blackadder's  given  me  the  editorship  of 
the  New  Review." 

"No  ?     Oh,  Ealph,  how  topping." 

"That's  what  I  ran  up  to  Oxford  for,  to  see  him  and 
settle  everything.  It's  a  fairly  decent  screw.  The 
thing's  got  no  end  of  backing,  and  it's  up  to  me  to 
make  it  last." 

"I  say — Fanny'll  be  pleased." 

As  they  were  talking  about  it,  the  landlady  of  the 
White  Hart  came  in  to  tell  them  that  Mrs,  Wadding- 
ton  was  downstairs  and  wanted  to  speak  to  Miss 
Madden. 

"All  right,"  Ealph  said.  "Show  Mrs.  Waddington 
up.     I'll  clear  out." 

"Oh,  Ralph,  what  am  I  to  say  to  her  ?" 

"Tell  her  the  truth,  if  she  wants  it.  She  won't 
mind." 

"She  will— frightfully." 

"Not  so  frightfully  as  you  think." 

"That's  what  he  said." 

"Well,  he's  right  there,  the  old  beast." 


"Barbara  dear"  said  Fanny  when  they  were  alone 
together,  "what  on  earth  has  happened?" 


a 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  311 

'Oh,  nothing.  We  just  had  a  bit  of  a  tiff,  that's 
all." 

"About  Ealph?     He  told  me  it  was  Ralph." 

"You  might  say  it  was  Ralph.     He  came  into  it." 

"Into  what?" 

"Oh,  the  general  situation." 

"Nonsense.  Horatio  was  making  love  to  you.  I 
could  see  by  his  face.  .  .  .  You  needn't  mind  telling 
me  straight  out.     I've  seen  it  coming." 

"Since  when?" 

"I  don't  know.  It  must  have  begun  long  before  I 
saw  it." 

"How  long  do  you  think  ?" 

"Oh,  before  Mrs.  Levitt." 

"Mrs.  Levitt?" 

"She  may  have  been  only  a  safety  valve.  That's 
why  I  made  him  adopt  you.  I  thought  it  would  stop 
it.  In  common  decency.  But  it  seems  it  only  brought 
it  to  a  head." 

"No.     It  was  his  canary  waistcoat  did  that,  Fanny." 

The  ghost  of  dead  mirth  rose  up  in  Fanny's  eyes. 

"You're  muddling  cause  and  effect,  my  dear.  He 
wasn't  in  love  because  he  bought  the  waistcoat.  He 
bought  the  waistcoat  because  he  was  in  love.  And 
those  other  things — ^the  romantic  pyjamas — because  he 
thought  they'd  make  him  look  younger." 


312  MR.  WADDiXGTON  OF  WYCK 

''Well  then,"  said  Barbara,  "it  was  a  vicious  circle. 
The  waistcoat  put  it  into  his  head  that  afternoon." 

"It  doesn't  much  matter  how  it  happened." 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  Fanny.  I  wouldn't  have  let 
it  hapjDen  for  the  world,  if  I'd  known  it  was  going  to. 
But  who  could  have  known  ?" 

"My  dear,  it  wasn't  your  fault." 

"Do  you  mind  frightfully  ?" 

Fanny  looked  away. 

"It  depends,"  she  said.  "What  did  you  say  to 
him  ?" 

"I  said  a  lot  of  things,  but  they  weren't  a  bit  of 
good.     Then  I'm  afraid  I  laughed." 

"You  laughed  at  him  ?" 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  Fanny.     He  was  so  funny." 

"Oh!"  Fanny  caught  her  breath  back  on  a  sob. 
"That's  what  I  can't  bear,  Barbara — his  being 
laughed  at." 

"I  know,"  said  Barbara. 

"By  the  way,  when  you're  dying  dear,  if  you  should 
be  dying  at  any  time,  it'll  be  a  consolation  to  you  to 
know  that  he  didn't  see  your  drawings " 

"Did  you  see  them  ?" 

"Only  the  one  he  was  looking  at  when  I  came  in." 

"Was  it — was  it  the  one  where  he  was  getting  into 
bed?" 


MK.  WADDING TOX  OF  WYCK  313 

"No.     He  was  only  hunting." 

"God  has  heen  kinder  to  me  than  I  deserve  then." 

"He's  been  kinder  to  him,  too,  I  fancy." 

She  went  on.  "I  want  you  to  see  this  thing 
straight.  Understand.  I  don't  mind  his  being  in  love 
with  you.  I  knew  he  was.  Head  over  ears  in  love. 
And  I  didn't  mind  a  bit." 

"I  think  he  was  reckoning  on  that.  He  knew  you'd 
forgive  him." 

"Forgive  him?  It  wasn't  even  a  question  of  forgive- 
ness. I  was  glad.  I  thought:  If  only  he  could  have 
one  real  feeling.  If  only  he  could  care  for  something 
or  somebody  that  wasn't  himself.  ...  I  think  he  cared 
for  you,  Barbara.  It  wasn't  just  himself.  And  I  loved 
him  for  it." 

"You  darling!     And  you  don't  hate  me?" 

"You  know  I  don't.  But  I'd  love  you  even  more 
if  you'd  loved  him." 

"If  I'd  loved  him?" 

"Yes.  If  you'd  gone  away  with  him  and  made  him 
happy.     If  you  hadn't  laughed  at  him,  Barbara." 

"I  know.  It  was  awful  of  me.  But  what  could 
I  do?" 

"What  could  you  do  ?  We  all  do  it.  I  do  it.  Mrs. 
Levitt  did  it." 


314  MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK 

"I  didn't  do  it  like  Mrs.  Levitt." 

"No.  But  you  were  just  one  more.  Think  of  it. 
All  his  life  to  be  laughed  at.  And  when  he  was 
making  love,  too ;  the  most  serious  thing,  Barbara,  that 
anybody  can  do.  I  tell  you  I  can't  bear  it.  I'd  have 
given  him  to  you  ten  times  first." 

"Then,"    said   Barbara,    "you   have  got   to   forgive 


me." 


"If  I  don't,  it's  because  it's  my  own  sin  and  I  can't 
forgive  myself.  .  .  . 

".  .  .  Besides,  I  let  it  happen.  Because  I  thought 
it  would  cure  him." 

"Of  falling  in  love?" 

"Of  trying  to  be  young  when  he  didn't  feel  it.  I 
thought  he'd  see  how  impossible  it  was.  But  that's 
the  sad  part  of  it.  He  would  have  felt  young,  Bar- 
bara, if  you'd  loved  him.  If  I'd  loved  him  I  could 
have  kept  him  young.  I  told  you,"  she  said,  "it  was 
all  my  fault." 

"You  told  me  Ealph  and  I  would  never  be  old. 
Is  that  what  you  meant?" 

"Yes." 

They  sat  silent  a  moment,  looking  down  through 
Ralph's  window  into  the  Market  Square. 

And  presently  they  saw  Mr.  Waddington  pass  the 


MR.  WADDINGTON  OF  WYCK  315 

comer  of  the  Town  Hall  and  cross  the  wide,  open 
space  to  the  Dower  House. 

"You  must  come  back  with  me,  Barbara.  If  you 
don't  everybody'll  know   what's  happened." 

"I  can't,  Fanny." 

"He  won't  be  there.  You  won't  see  him  till  your 
wedding  day.  He's  going  to  stay  with  Granny.  He 
says  she  isn't  very  well." 

"I'm  sorry  she  isn't  well." 

"She's  perfectly  well.  That  isn't  what  he's  going 
for." 

Across  the  Square  they  could  see  the  door  of  the 
Dower  House  open  and  receive  him.     Fanny  smiled. 

"He's  going  back  to  his  mother  to  be  made  young 
again,"  she  said. 


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